Strange Beyond Belief
by ladipretender
Summary: Though Shawn knew deep down that his harrowing ordeal that had been centered around an extremely unlikely object wasn't over, he didn't expect the resulting events to play out in such an unbelievable way. When an old lady asks the duo to track down her nephew, Shawn suddenly finds himself in an eerily familiar situation, but this time, he's on his own in a strange city..Or is he?
1. All the Small Things, True Care Truth

So, this story, aptly named Strange Beyond Belief, pretty much picks up where Beyond the Strange Chance left off, and was actually never supposed to exist…it's only through a rather intriguing review by Nikers13, on psychfic that got the wheels in my head turning, and the never ending support (as well as the motivation stick) of TiTB that this has come to be. And who knows, what might be next ;)

* * *

Chapter 1: All the Small Things, True Care Truth Brings, Watching, Waiting, Commiserating

_I am __**so **__totally finding a place closer to town when I am finally 'released for good behavior,' _Shawn silently grumbled from his seat on the porch, scuffing his sneakered foot in a figure eight pattern on the worn floorboards in sheer boredom as he tried to ignore tell-tale signs he was getting sick. For the past three days, Shawn had been doing everything in his power to either outright hide or at least down play the stuffy nose, splitting headache and scratchy throat that, despite his best efforts with the filched cold medicine from the cabinet, had proceeded to get worse with each passing hour.

For the most part, he felt he'd been mostly successful, but if he didn't get out of here soon, his father was going pick up on his symptoms and then Shawn would be lucky if he wasn't smothered with every blanket in the house while being plied with an entire ocean of Chicken Noodle soup. Especially now that his 'warden' had managed to foil yet another brilliant escape attempt with Gus, the fourth one in less than a week, that would have made him feel at least marginally in control of the situation. In addition to the helpless feeling, the recovering man was actually at a loss of exactly what in the world he was supposed to be doing with his abundant free time, so he simply allowed his mind wander for the moment.

_Somewhere I can walk or take a bus if necessary...and it might not be a bad idea if the area were a bit more populated, since it's quite likely that this whole fiasco isn't over,_ he reluctantly acknowledged as he scanned the boardwalk, shifting position and beginning to idly drum the fingers of his right hand on the table in front of him. And those five words, though so simple in theory, were quite likely why Shawn was going so completely stir crazy at his dad's.

Though everything had been quiet in the thirteen days since Rye had been arrested and his partner, Rind, had given the Santa Barbara Police Department a statement claiming they had been after the painting for nothing more than its design, Shawn was far from convinced that the whole story had been revealed. _And I'm fairly to pretty damn sure that Dad feels the same way, no matter how much he's choosing to deny it..._Shawn reasoned, shooting a glance at his father's back where he had reentered the house through the kitchen after Gus drove off, movements rigid as he worked. The elder Spencer had been on edge since forcing Shawn to come and stay with him ten days prior, and the younger man knew his father well enough to know that the tension present in the house had to do with so much more than their run of the mill butting of heads.

_This is __**so**__ much more complex than that_, he reasoned before forcing himself to change gears and focus on the task ahead. Mainly the fact that Psych _finally _had taken on a private, as well as _paying_, customer..._Though at this rate, I'll be lucky if Warden Norton even allows me to get out there and investigate it..._He grumbled, knowing that he and Gus were supposed to leave for Ridgecrest in less than 48 hours. The ringing of his iPhone, which he had only gotten back from Jules earlier in the week, interrupted Shawn's thoughts and caused his brow to furrow in confusion when he saw who was calling.

Heart sinking when he acknowledged the only reason Gus would be calling so soon after driving off had to do with his other job, which never boded well for Shawn's plans, he never the less hit the accept button and greeted his best friend in a cheerful voice, "Hey, buddy, miss me already?" The guilty silence on the other end immediately convinced Shawn he wasn't going to like this news one bit.

"_No, Shawn," _Gus responded in irritation, "_There's actually something I ha-" _the unmistakable sounds in the background confirmed the brunette's suspicion.

"Are you at the _airport?!"_ He exclaimed in shock, _This is going to be worse than I had originally thought..._

"_Yes, I was just ordered to catch Flight 221 to Seattle, to attend the lectures at a different conference to make up for leaving the Pharmacology for Advanced Practice Clinician conference early," _Gus exclaimed with a sigh.

"Dude! They can't make you fly all the way to _**Alabama**_ to go to a freaking conference!" he demanded, trying to figure out if his best friend was merely pulling his leg. _I have to admit, if it's a prank, he's definitely got me going..._

"_It's in __**Washington **__state, Shawn, and no, you haven't heard it both ways,"_ Gus cut in before the other man could make the predicted statement, causing Shawn to roll his eyes on his end of the phone. _"But, yes my bosses have __**every **__right to tell me I have to attend a conference or else I could lose my job. I didn't even get enough notice to have a chance to pack any luggage to bring with me," the salesman remarked in exasperation, "But I will be back late tomorrow, so I can still drive out to meet you in Ridgecrest late Friday."_

"No, don't worry about it, Gus," Shawn assured his best friend, "I can go and see what, if anything, I am able to ferret out, and I'll bring you up to speed when I get back to Santa Barbara." After all, he didn't _want_ Gus to lose his job, no matter how boring he happened to find being a pharmaceutical salesman, if only because it meant a lot to the other man.

"_Are you __**sure**__?" _Gus asked, a touch of confusion and concern evident in his voice at his friend's uncharacteristic behavior.

"Of course I'm sure, Gus..." Shawn insisted confidently, "Listen, just have a nice of a trip as you can listening to boring presentations on drugs, and that, my friend, is an order," he said in a mockingly stern tone.

There was a moment of silence before the other man answered, "_OK...but can you do me a favor and keep me posted on anything, Shawn? And I do mean__** anything**__,..."_

Knowing his best friend was still reeling from his kidnapping, disappearance from the ambulance, and near strangulation at the hands of Rye at the hospital, Shawn quickly agreed, "You got it, Gus," A_fter all, I can send lots of boring texts, I do have an unlimited plan..."Thanks.,"_ he replied before a noise came over the line, "_Sorry, Shawn, that's my boarding call so I've gotta go," _the salesman finished, hanging up before Shawn could say anything else.

"Bye, buddy," he said softly before putting the iPhone back on the table, an uneasy feeling over the recent turn of events settling in Shawn's stomach the longer he sat there. Telling himself he was simply letting everything get to him, Shawn shook his head and sighed as he got to his feet, grabbing the cell phone with his right hand as he headed into his father's house.

* * *

_Sometimes I swear that kid forgets exactly __**who**__ taught him everything he knows, _Henry thought with a small head shake as he made lunch, covertly watching his son enter the living room from the back porch and flop on the couch from his spot in the kitchen. _Usually he would have been all over something so obvious, _the elder Spencer thought, deciding to let it slide for now as he reasoned,_ The kid must still be recovering from his concussion if he hasn't figured out all that cold medicine he's been taking was put there after Gus told me that he noticed Shawn was getting sick..._

* * *

_One criminal offense, two felonies, and...__**fifteen**__ misdemeanors?! What in the name of Sweet Lady Justice is the world coming to? _Head detective Carlton Lassiter wondered as he finished sorting through the rest of the reports from the Canary that had been neglected on his desk after the bizarre events surrounding Spencer's latest brush with death. _And here I thought the events of that day at the hotel were weird, _he thought with a snort, _Well it turned out to be downright normal compared to the way the rest of the week went..._Unfortunately, recalling that strange turn of events only served to hammer home the fact that, despite repeated attempts on the lanky man's part, he hadn't been able to bring himself to thank the pain in the ass that called himself O'Hara's boyfriend.

_But there's just no escaping the fact that the man has proven to have at least __**one **__redeeming quality by repeatedly watching over __**your **__partner when you weren't there to do so, _the little voice, that had been incessantly taunting him ever since the woman in question had bowled him over with her statements in the hospital parking lot, started in again. Though Lassiter longed with every fiber of his being to be able to deny to his dying breath that there would ever _**any **_reason to admit Spencer was useful, he couldn't deny the truth when it was so plainly in front of him in black and white.

_It's probably going to come back to bite me in the butt not just humbling myself and thanking him when the man-child was unable to speak last week, _he admitted with a grimace, _**Now, **__I'll be lucky if I __**ever**__ hear the end of it, _he thought with a heavy sigh, trying to rub away the headache that had seemingly become a constant part of his life since the man had waltzed into the station almost seven years ago. _If I'd have known then what I know now, would I have still made the same choice about believing his ridiculous claim about solving crimes by watching Channel 8, or hell even Channel 5, News? _As far-fetched as that sounded, the head detective had to admit that it wasn't any less likely than the consultant _actually _being a psychic...in fact, it was probably _**more**_ believable when it was all said and done.

Shaking his head when he realized he'd been staring off into space for the past ten minutes instead of taking the last of the reports down to the file room, Lassiter glanced around the nearly deserted bullpen to ensure no one had seen him woolgathering, satisfied that his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed as he got up from his desk and headed for the file room, reports in hand, only to have his gaze land on the atrocious painting that was tucked halfway behind the metal. _I had almost forgotten that Spencer actually __**wants **__that thing back, _he realized, _Though __**who in the hell knows why**__...it's completely useless and nothing more than an eyesore, _rolling his eyes as he completed his task, really wishing he could just toss the ruined canvas in the dumpster out back and plead ignorance when the pain in the ass tried to track it down. Except the chief had left explicit instructions to return it to the psychic, and the station was equipped with an overabundance of high end security cameras, both facts that left the lanky man no choice but to follow the chief's orders.

Twenty minutes and a scaldingly hot cup of coffee later, the head detective knew he was feeling as human as he was likely to before heading to Henry's house where, according to O'Hara, who had gotten out of the unpleasant task by having to testify in court while Lassiter caught up on paperwork, Spencer Junior was staying. Grabbing the painting, he reasoned, _Might as well bite the bullet and get this over with...no matter how painful it might be. After all, it could hardly be more painful than having to cart this hideous thing around in public again…_

* * *

Reviews are like figuring out you're going to write a sequel…to a story you haven't even finished yet—inspiring and just a bit daunting, but completely worth it in the end, and completely loved ;)


	2. Should have thought this through and fin

Though I have several OCs in this work, I am merely borrowing the world of Psych, and its amazing characters as a setting in order for this to make some sense ;) In other words, they aren't mine, so don't sue me, because I own absolutely nothing, except maybe my good name…and I really shouldn't write these things with a headache xD

Chapter 2: Should've Thought Things through and Finding out that Cheating gets it Faster.

* * *

"Good, just make sure everything is in place and that it's all going to go smoothly," Pamela Alinksky, more well known by the single name 'Potter', ordered, inspecting her $2,500 manicure for the slightest imperfection, whether real or imagined, as the response from the person on the other end caused her to frown. "No, I want _**you**_ there to ensure any problems that could possibly arise are dealt with immediately. It's time to end this...Yes, well, I certainly wasn't willing to have him peg anyone else," she bit out, outraged that her decision was being questioned, "Unless someone can tell me how the hell he managed to do it in the first place, this discussion is over. In 48 hours, it will all be moot anyway, just make sure you're ready to fly out within the hour to oversee this personally. And Ricardo," Potter said quietly, causing the man to pause as he waited for the other shoe to fall, "I'm sure this goes without saying, but..._don't screw this up, or it'll be your head..._"

Actually resisting the urge to let the offending instrument fly once she'd ended the call, the forty seven year old, though she'd kill anyone who'd admit to knowing her true age since she certainly didn't _look _it, glanced around her Chicago penthouse with a disinterested eye. To the casual observer, it might seem like the redhead lived a charmed life, but the tough as nails executive knew what she wanted and she went for it; and in this case she wanted this damn thing over already. A strong woman who believed that, while other people were weak enough to wait until their desires came to them, the world would give her what she wanted through sheer strength and stamina, and in some cases a bit of physical persuasion.

That was how she'd married an extremely powerful man at the age of 25, took over his business and entire empire when he'd fallen ill fewer than ten years later, and possessed the power to strike fear into the most hardy of souls. _Except one, _Potter thought with a grimace as Ellery Griffin entered the room. Though only related by marriage, Potter and Phoenix, as he was called, had forged a bond closer than even the most devote siblings, with mutual respect and brutal honesty. He was one of the few people ever to say no to her and live to tell the tale, and he never pulled his punches when he disagreed with a decision she'd made. _Obviously, now is one of those times..._she mused, taking in the determined look on his tanned face.

The lean and muscular fifty year old studied his sister-in-law for a moment before remarking, "Are you sure that this ridiculously elaborate plan is going to work?" his steely green eyes a marked contrast to his dyed jet black locks as he sought any answers her body language might reveal.

"Trust me darling, I've got everything worked out perfectly," Potter assured him, her sugary sweet tone hiding nothing from the man who'd known her for more than twenty years.

"Well, it had better," he shot back dryly, "Because the last attempt was nothing short of a veritable disaster and we can't afford to attract anymore undue attention to our activities," he finished with a stern look, the iron clad will shining through her blue eyed glare having no effect on him. "Come off it, Potts," Phoenix continued in a calmer tone, "We lost two of our most versatile men in the Drinfelds, and didn't even manage to regain our property through it all. Of course I'm going to caution you on this. You've always been impulsive, leaping first without ever bothering to look, and many, many times it's worked to our advantage, so much so that I have often looked the other way despite your methods but," he held up a hand to forestall the inevitable outburst, "I just don't think this is the kind of situation you want to do that in. The more looking we do, the more evidence I find that this guy is a highly respected, if unconventional, consultant and if this backfires, it's both our asses."

"Oh, never worry, _dearling,_" she answered with a smirk, knowing just how much he hated that particular endearment, "I've got it all worked out, including all the possible contingencies. By the time anyone even _realizes_ he's gone," Phoenix simply shook his head, "It's going to be _**WAY **_too late for anyone to actually do a damn thing about it...In fact, they'll be lucky if they ever find the body..."

Head and casted wrist throbbing in unison, Shawn retreated out of his father's house as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, bounding down the porch steps and heading down the beach with nothing more on his mind than to put some distance between himself and the cause of his distress. _There are a great many things that I never want to know about my dad, and __**any**__ indication, no matter how small, that he might have a love life is at the top of that list, as is the possibility that the affection might actually be appreciated..._Shawn thought with a grimace, recalling the familiar feminine voice that had drifted through the house to his spot on the porch like a siren's call, causing him to get out of his seat to investigate and almost leading him to his demise. The faux psychic was exceedingly grateful that he'd only caught the merest glimpse of what was transpiring in the other room, and even though he was almost certain his father had been attempting to discourage, and not encourage, the overly friendly nurse, he wasn't about to stick around to find out for sure. _That split second was __**sooooo**__ much more than I ever needed to see in ten lifetimes…_

Though, if he were honest with himself, Shawn knew he really had no one but himself to blame for the new acquired bruise forming over his left eyebrow. _A bruise that hopefully no one happens to notice bears a striking resemblance to the edge of my cast,_ he admitted sorely, _I damn near knocked myself out by doing that..._Reaching up to touch the tender spot, he immediately stopped when he belatedly realized that his hand wasn't empty. Glancing down in confusion, Shawn blinked a few times before it finally dawned on him that he must have grabbed the painting Lassie had brought back yesterday in his mad dash to get out of there. Deciding not to look into _how_ he'd blocked out that event too closely, Shawn paused to take a moment to orient himself, deciding he might as well make his final destination Psych, since he had started off that direction without realizing it.

The worst part about walking long distances down the beach while carting a warped, waterlogged, and wrecked painting was neither the strange looks he received nor the uneven terrain that hindered his progress, Shawn silently admitted 20 minutes later, but the seemingly unlimited amount of time to reason everything out in his head. Refusing to even _contemplate_ what in the world his father and that woman were _giggling,_ for crying out loud, about in the kitchen, because then he really _would _knock himself unconscious, and on purpose this time, Shawn forced himself to think about Psych's latest client, a woman who could easily be one of the most unique customers the detective duo could ever had, and considering some of the cases they had taken, that was saying something.

"_Gus," Shawn hissed as the old woman sat at his desk, absentmindedly poking at the array of items strewn across it. "Estelle Getty is in __**our **__office," seeing if he could get his best friend's attention...Though he was well aware that Estelle Getty had passed away in recent years, the woman in the office could easily pass as her twin. The dark skinned man eventually looked up from the sandwich he was making and gave his best friend an exasperated look, before glancing toward the desk where the woman was seated and then back to the sandwich, shaking his head._

"_I'm sorry Shawn, I just don't see it..."_

"_I __**can**__ hear you, you bachagaloops!" the tiny statured woman pointed out, her powerful voice belying her small stature, never once looking up from her perusal._

_And from there, the visit hadn't gotten any less bizarre_, Shawn admitted with a small smile. From her caustic, "_Excuse me boys,_ _did I give you any indication at all that I care?"_ in response to Gus's frantic attempt at a stuttered explanation, sandwich forgotten in front of him, to her story itself.

Estelle Arthur, as she had introduced herself moments later, had come to the psychic detective hoping he might be able to shed some light on where her only living relative, a nephew named Brett Hollingsworth, might be. As she'd explained, they'd had a falling out and she wanted to be able to mend the rift before it was too late. Estelle had even been able to furnish them with a last known address, she just needed someone to find out if he was still in that area, and as she put it, "_Who better than a psychic and his sidekick, who wouldn't have to physically confront Brett?"_ because apparently the woman didn't know if her nephew would still be upset with her. _Must have been a pretty epic fight, _Shawn reasoned, immediately reminded of a similar blow out, years ago.

She hadn't even seemed put out when the two men exchanged a speaking look before Shawn carefully answered, "_Well, Estelle, if I may call you that, it doesn't exactly work that way..."_ shrugging it off and offering to provide transportation and lodging while they checked it out. _And then she finished by paying us a sizable deposit in __**cash**__,_ he thought, knowing he still had a ways to go before he would reach the office.

Glancing down at the painting, Shawn let himself think about the other piece of news he'd received, this time when the chief had showed up out of the blue to visit him in the hospital. Even now, remembering the information, and the way he had been able to correctly finish Chief Vick's drawn out statement, filled him with dread. Though the blonde's topic wasn't much of a surprise, and he really hadn't known the man very well, considering he'd only worked at the resort for a few days, having his suspicions confirmed that Roger Righte was dead, and not simply dead but almost certainly viciously murdered, put a whole new spin on his theory that this wasn't over, and that it might in fact be just beginning. Letting all the facts sink in as he trudged along, Shawn took a calming breath and simply allowed his mind to wander for the remainder of the trip to Psych.

_Now it's time to figure out what __**exactly **__about this ridiculous thing is worth killing for..._Shawn vowed as he finally saw the office front come into view, sincerely hoping those two _really _didn't go to such an incredible amount of trouble for something as ridiculous as a complete lack of taste. _Because as far as ugly goes, you really can't get much worse than this monstrosity..._not that Shawn was willing to delve too far into _why _he'd ended up with the canvas in the first place, "Who'd have thought one innocuous comment would result in such a strange turn of events," he commented softly, checking the surrounding area before approaching the front door.

Letting himself into the office, he propped the painting on one of the wing chairs before heading into the small kitchen, hoping that Gus had remembered to refill the ice cube tray from the _last_ time Shawn had raided it for first aid purposes, as well as other, more fun endeavors. _We really need to get another tray, so I can finally make pineapple juice ice cubes without Gus freaking out, _he thought opening the freezer to find nothing but the empty tray, "No pineappley goodness for me, apparently," Shawn remarked with a sigh, "And just my luck, no ice either..."

Closing the freezer door without bothering to refill the tray, Shawn grabbed the painting and laid it face up on his desk, studying the sturdy but inexpensive wooden frame closely. When he had first laid eyes on the canvas at the resort, the inch and a half piece of wood had been stained a rich mahogany color, but years of storage, and neglect, the faux psychic admitted with a sigh, had dulled the once beautiful finish, leaving it distressed and worn. The painting itself had, prior to its trip into the ditch and subsequent swim, weathered the years worlds better, suffering only some minor fading and a few frayed threads. "And now look at it," he uttered, tracing his good hand over the gaping hole his father had made in the waterlogged and severely damaged canvas, Shawn sighed and turned it over to inspect the back. Though at first glance, his perusal appeared to be a waste of time because _nothing _seemed out of the ordinary, Shawn noticed an extremely slight unevenness on the far corner of the canvas. Sliding that side closer to him in order to inspect it in greater detail, he confirmed that there was a bump, albeit a tiny one, between the canvas and the stretcher frame.

Removing the spring clips, Shawn freed the fabric from the wooden frame, setting it on its side as he ran his fingers over the raised section, reasoning that it would be just about the right size to be either a coin or maybe a piece of metal, like a small key. "Now, just need to figure out how to get this off the frame," he mused, examining the underside until he found the stapled fabric. Giving it an experimental one handed tug proved futile since the uppermost fifth of the canvas actually managed to escape the worst of the water damage, and the deterioration that came with it, so the hazel eyed man went in search of the tool box Gus tried to keep hidden from him. _Shouldn't take me __**too **__long to find it, _Shawn thought, but frowned when he was still empty handed ten minutes later.

_Where in the hell did Gus hide all of the tools in the office __**this **__week? _Shawn wondered as he rummaged through the remaining cabinet, hoping he wouldn't have to get _too _creative to figure out how to remove that heavy staple. "You stab yourself with _one _screwdriver..." he muttered when his search came up empty, only to have his eyes land on the letter opener stuck in the cup on his desk. "What the hell, it's worth a shot..."

Twenty minutes, and several newly coined explicit words later, Shawn finally managed to work the staple loose enough to slide the object out, causing it to land with a metallic thud on his wooden desk. "Well now, _**that's**_ definitely a reason to invest considerable time and effort into tracking down such a ridiculous painting," he commented, palming the old coin and flipping it over to inspect the other side. _Confederate States of America, hmmm? Too bad Gus got called away to that make up conference last minute, _Shawn thought, unsure if he would even consider letting his best friend see this particular coin, focusing for a moment on who else might have a clue. _Wait a minute, I know __**exactly**__ who'd be the authority on old coins, and he's in the perfect position to help me out...but will he actually come here if I ask him to?_

Figuring there wasn't an easier way to find out, Shawn grabbed the office phone and dialed a familiar number, hoping the other man would answer when he saw the number, and, one ring before going to voicemail, the annoyed voice on the other end bit out, "_**What**__?_"

"Hey, I need you to do me a smallish favor..."

* * *

Reviews are just love…especially after banging my head against my desk, whether it was physically or mentally…and you know, mentally doing it is at least 10x more painful than actually doing it…


	3. Would you Hold me Down forever if I came

**I honestly have no excuse for disappearing from the face of the Earth, except that RL has been beating me down relentlessly the last several months, and I just didn't have time to post. That being said, this story is finished and will be posted in its entirety...I promise.**

**Chapter 3: Would you Hold me down Forever if I Came to You for Answers?**

* * *

Juliet glanced around the bullpen, briefly wondering exactly where her partner had managed to disappear to in the short amount of time it had taken her to walk to the file room, put the most recent stack of papers away, and head back to her desk. Shrugging it off for the moment, she had grabbed the final stack of the reports that had piled up over the last week, breathing a sigh of relief at the amount of desk, no matter how small, that was now visible, when the edge of something white in that newly exposed area caught her eye. Figuring it was more than likely a note from either Carlton or the chief, Juliet shifted the files so she could open the creased sheet in order to read what was on the paper, wishing immediately that she hadn't.

Far from being from her partner, or another officer in the building for that matter, it was the piece of paper Francie had been so adamant to have delivered to her husband almost two weeks ago. A piece of paper she and Carlton had driven halfway across town in the storm for, before all hell had broken loose..._And a paper I __**completely **__forgot about in the mad dash at the hospital, _Juliet realized with a grimace. Suddenly feeling a little bit like she had as a teenager when she had inadvertently stumbled upon her best friend's diary, not to mention some of the extremely unflattering entries contained within it, she quickly hid the words by refolding the note, resolving to deliver it to the young officer at the first available opportunity. _But, since he's not in sight, I had better file these reports before my arm falls off..._

Ten minutes later, the junior detective had accomplished the filing part of her task, but still hadn't managed to locate either her partner or the tall officer in any of the usual spots. Juliet was just about to head downstairs to check the interrogation rooms, in case one of them had wandered down to find some privacy, when a voice caused her to stop mid step. "O'Hara, my office, _now_."

Wracking her brain in an attempt to recall _anything_ she might have done to put that edge in the chief's voice as she hustled across the bullpen, Juliet came up empty as she followed the other woman into her office and shut the door behind her. Bracing herself for whatever news she might receive from her superior, Juliet blinked in surprise at the chief's next question, "Detective, have you seen Mr. Spencer?"

_Is this about Shawn or Henry, I wonder? _she mused before answering Chief Vick's question. "Well, I saw both Shawn and his father yesterday after I got back from testifying on the Scrivinski case, but I haven't seen either one of them today." Hoping her boyfriend wasn't causing trouble simply because he was bored with his forced stay at his childhood home, Juliet asked the question she wasn't totally sure she wanted the answer to, "Why, is something the matter?"

"Not necessarily," Chief Vick hedged, taking a seat at her desk and motioning for her detective to do the same, "Henry just called me...apparently Shawn left at some point while one of the nurses from the hospital was paying a visit today. He didn't seem overly concerned," she assured at Juliet's slight frown, "But was mainly trying to find out if he might have come here, because Shawn isn't answering either his cell phone or the one at the Psych office. Since you're the first person he'd be likely to contact if he needed a ride or a place to say," the chief continued after a moment, "I thought I'd ask you first." There was a very pregnant pause before Chief Vick remarked offhandedly, "Oh, and Detective Lassiter also seems to be AWOL, so there might be a chance Mr. Spencer contacted him for some reason."

"You think there's a possibility of them being somewhere _together_, **_without_** killing each other_?_" Juliet asked in disbelief, knowing she hadn't missed any calls on her cell phone today, and unable to think of a single reason why her boyfriend would call Carlton and not her if he needed anything.

Glancing up from the paper she was scanning, Chief Vick responded to her detective's question, "I said there was a chance, but it's far more likely that Mr. Spencer simply went for a walk to get some fresh air. With all that's happened lately, Henry's simply being cautious." Giving the chief a small nod, Juliet ventured back into the bullpen, stopping at her desk to try her partner's cell phone, only to have the voicemail pick up after several rings. _Who might know where Carlton disappeared to, and perhaps whether or not it has anything to do with Shawn?_

Smiling when she saw Buzz McNab round the corner, because even if he couldn't help her out with information, at least she could finally give him the paper that had been burning a hole in her pocket, she met him halfway across the room. "Hey, Buzz," holding out the note with a sheepish look, she waited for him to take it before explaining, "Francie had asked me to give that to you before, but somehow it got mixed up in all the paperwork on my desk…"

"It's ok, Detective O'Hara," he answered, with a smile of his own, well aware from her expression that she'd read it. The cut he'd sustained in the altercation at the hospital was finally starting to heal, the three stitches the doctor had put in having been removed the day before he'd been cleared to return to work. "It's just that we've never been apart for that long in the entire time that we've been married," the young officer softly remarked, holding up the folded piece of paper, "So it was important to her to do this for me, though I wonder if it's the reason Detective Lassiter was so brusque when I ran into him in the hallway earlier."

Perking up at the officer's mention of Carlton, Juliet casually asked, "I didn't mention the note to him, so I don't think so, but when did you see him today, Buzz?"

"Well, it wasn't that long ago," the tall man admitted quietly, expression thoughtful, "He seemed to be in a big hurry, and barely glanced my way as he said something I couldn't quite catch..." Listening as the tall man described the encounter, Juliet knew it meant an annoyed harrumph and glare were the only responses her partner gave as he stomped out of the building. Though Buzz would never say it in so many words, Juliet knew both men well enough to read between the young officer's words and correctly deduce Carlton's actions. Giving him a reassuring look, she let him get back to his work, watching as he tucked the card into a pocket of his uniform as she remembered a few of the things written on the heavy card stock.

_I am..._

_completely devoted to you_

_I love..._

_your tender and loving touch_

_to snuggle and cuddle with you_

_to gaze into your beautiful eyes_

_In you I have found..._

_the greatest joy of my life_

_I think..._

_you're amazing-goodnight, sweetheart_

* * *

"Damn it, **_Spencer,"_** the head detective demanded as he burst through the inner office door only to have an object connect with his forehead and bounce off, "What the hell do you think you're doi..." he trailed off as he bent down to pick it up off the hardwood floor, getting a good look at _exactly _what had come flying through the air to hit him in the head. _There is no way I am seeing what I __**think **__I'm seeing,_ he told himself, _This __**has **__to be one of Spencer's seemingly limitless supply of practical jokes..._Under further scrutiny, however, everything about the coin certainly _seemed _legit, from the coat of arms on the back to the "O" mint mark. Eyes narrowing in confusion as he rejected every possible explanation but the most farfetched one, the detective demanded, "Where the **_hell_** did you get this?!"

"Considering I'm not even sure I know _what_ it **_is_**, I honestly have no clue what you're talking about, Lassifrass," Shawn returned tiredly, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. _Maybe walking here from my dad's with a cold wasn't the brightest idea...but I __**couldn't**__ stick around there, _he thought, suppressing a shudder as he glanced back at the other man. "But it's the key to everything," he insisted from his desk chair, hoping for once the detective would just take him at his word, but sighing inwardly as he immediately recognized the expression that settled on the other man's face. _Dammit, Lassie, why do you __**always**__ have to be so predictable?_ Shawn griped silently, wondering why he hadn't just called Jules, who would have at least given him the benefit of the doubt, though, deep in his heart, he was already well aware of the answer. _You wanted to keep this from her beca-_

"The key to **_what,_** Spencer?" Lassie returned without missing a beat, addressing the one major issue that Shawn had yet to figure out as he cut into the seated man's thoughts. "The perpetrators **_confessed_**, in case you had managed to forget," he ground out, though, the head detective was more unsettled than he wanted to admit at the mere presence of the very rare, and expensive if it truly was authentic, coin he was currently holding in his hand because, except the one owned by the American Numismatic Society in New York City, the rest of the surviving half dollars were all in the hands of private collectors. In fact the last time one had come up for sale, it had sold for over half a million dollars; it was obvious Spencer was right about the coin being the _reason_ behind the odd events that had transpired..._But there simply isn't any possible way that the twerp could be right about this not being over_, he reasoned as he absently fingered the metal disc.

"C'mon, Lassie," Shawn insisted, deciding to go against his better judgment and see how far he could push his luck on the issue, "You know just as well as I do that nothing about this adds up! I mean, two basically bumbling thugs somehow manage to track the canvas down after almost six years?" The consultant demanded, knowing if the other man simply _reasoned _it out, he would have to agree there was something more going on, no matter how much he disliked the thought. "The body of the man who gave it to me was discovered in a wooded area just outside of Santa Clara, Lassie, badly beaten and shot to death with a 45 caliber pistol," he continued, glancing up to see if he had the detective's attention. _Shoulda known the mention of a gun would cause him to take notice._ "Then, not three months later, they came after me...This whole thing just reeks of methodical planning, man, and if I'm wrong, then tell me this," he demanded fiercely, "Why would they go through so much trouble to get their hands on that worthless painting, but then they confess so readily once arrested, even though no one had any clue this coin was in there?" Shawn finished, gesturing toward the canvas, knowing immediately that it was the _wrong_ approach to take from the suddenly closed look on the lanky man's face, and that his gamble was about to backfire in his face. _Crap, I'm pretty sure I just hurt his feelings and, therefore, he's going to ignore all the facts I presented to him in favor of having a hissy fit, _he admitted as he waited for the inevitable reaction, _Oh, well, not much I can do about it now except wait it out..._

"You know what, Spencer?" The lanky man hissed angrily, teeth audibly grinding as he fought the urge the throttle the seated man child. "Contrary to what you think, you _are. Not. __**Always**__. __**RIGHT**_..." he ranted, pacing back and forth in the small space, "Yes, those two _may _have somehow found out the coin was hidden in the painting. Hell, maybe one of them _put_ it there for all I know," Lassiter fumed, totally indignant that this pain in the ass would dare insinuate that _he_, **_Head Detective_**, didn't know how to do something as basic as get a confession from a suspect. "But, this matter **_is_** closed, no matter how much that may irk you not to get your way, because the confession I got was rock solid and I'm sick and tired of hearing about ridiculous conspiracy theories."

"Lassie, please just hear-" Shawn tried once more, only to have the livid man stop him with a look.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Lassiter continued, "In fact, I don't want to hear _anything_ more from you in the not too distant future. **_Good. Bye._**" Lassiter stated coldly, tossing the coin back in Shawn's face and storming into the front room.

It took a few seconds for him to realize that, in the heat of the moment, he'd completely forgotten the whole reason he'd agreed to Spencer's ridiculous request to meet him alone at Psych in the first place-to express his gratitude for protecting O'Hara. _Fat chance of that happening now, _he admitted with a grimace, stopping in his tracks as he glanced back, just able to see the man slumped forward in his desk chair, head in his hands, through the doorway. Feeling as though he'd just kicked a puppy, and an injured one at that, the detective let out a heavy sigh and headed slowly back to his Fusion, cursing softly to himself as he let the door swing quietly closed behind him.

* * *

**Reviews are like life, mine or yours, take your pick xD extremely unpredictable, but totally entertaining…and you just never know just what might happen next, lol ;P**


	4. I'm not Crazy, I'm Just a Little Unwell

Chapter 4: I'm not Crazy, I'm Just a Little Unwell, I Know Right now you can't Tell...ACHOO! Ah Hell, Apparently you can...

* * *

"Damn it, Shawn!"

Jerking awake at his father's outburst, he blinked a few times to orient himself before realizing he must have fallen asleep on the couch while watching some television in the office after Lassie had stormed out. "Daaad," Shawn answered sleepily, stretching as best as he could without getting up, "What're you doing here," he turned his head toward the elder Spencer who'd approached the couch, leaning over his son with his arms crossed, "Besides interrupting my nap?"

Giving his son his best, 'I don't know who you think you're fooling, because it's _definitely_ not me,' glare, Henry scoffed, "Nap? What the hell do you need to take a nap for, Kid?" waiting to see if Shawn was finally ready to admit to having been sick for the better part of a week and inwardly fuming that the kid had taken off and left him in the kitchen with that crazy, but attractive, nurse. A pin could have knocked the liaison over when he opened his front door only to find _Endora_ of all people standing there, her perky, '_You gonna let me in or leave me standin' out here all day, Sugar?' _instantly grating on his nerves and causing his skin to crawl, even as he did the gentlemanly thing and allowed her entry into his house. _Only to be fending off her advances in the kitchen not ten minutes later, while my irresponsible, and sick, son decided to take the opportunity to disappear into thin air. Why do all the good looking ones have to exhibit stalker like tendencies?_ It had taken almost two hours for him to convince the heavy set woman that he was fine, but that, after all the excitement from the last two weeks, he and his son both needed their rest, and _no_ he didn't need any private nursing at this time.

"Well, it's a long walk here from your house, Dad," his son responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, finally getting into a sitting position on the couch. When Henry's gaze travelled the room, only to land on the remains of that horrendous painting, he raised a skeptical eyebrow, idly wondering why the monstrosity was here, and in pieces no less.

"Not good enough, Shawn," he grumbled after a moment, deciding not to pursue the issue right now, "After continually trying your iPhone and office line," he remarked, giving the upside down, and no doubt dead, handset a glare, "I went looking for you and I broke at least three traffic laws on the way over here, kid, so you're going to have to give me a better explanation than that." Sitting on the spot his son's legs had vacated when he sat up, Henry settled in to wait out the other man. _I got nothin' but time, kiddo, especially since the last thing I need is the shock of __**that woman**__ showing up on my doorstep again. _

"Wait, you're telling me that _you _broke the law getting here? And you managed to do it in a **_rental_** no less?" Shawn asked, focusing on the most interesting part of his father's statement and stifling a yawn as he stretched once again. Ignoring the annoyed look he received, the younger Spencer sighed and decided to at least partially level with his dad..._But that doesn't mean I am talking about the woman from hell any more than absolutely necessary,_ he vowed, fervently hoping the older man wasn't going to encourage her in the least little bit. "Well, you seemed kinda preoccupied when I left, Dad, so I decided to take a walk and I happened to grab the painting on the way out the door," giving Henry a sidelong glance, he continued, "I was about half way here when I decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to think this whole thing through one more time."

"And what exactly did you come up with after all that time to think, Shawn?" Henry asked, certain that Shawn was also convinced this thing was far from over, though father and son, in true Spencer fashion, had gone out of their way to avoid discussing the issue.

"Not a whole hell of a lot…it really left me with more questions than answers," Shawn responded, debating for a moment over whether or not he should bring up the coin hidden within the frame of the painting. Finally deciding he wasn't willing to have two people in his life disbelieve him, or smack him down, in the span of a few hours as he stifled a sneeze, Shawn left that detail out, at least until he had something more concrete to offer, as he waited for his father to comment on his health.

"And I suppose being sick as a dog wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" his father demanded, looking his son over, immediately noting the red, slightly chapped nose as well as the deep purple circles that were prominent under Shawn's eyes. _Kid's not getting enough sleep, _Henry admitted silently, frowning when he thought of just how zonked out the consultant had been when he'd walked through the door earlier. _If I had been someone intending to hurt him, he'd never have woken up in order to have any hope of defending himself…_

"Sure can't hide anything from you, can I?" Shawn shot back, the intended sarcasm lost when he broke into a yawn that morphed into a long cough midway through his comment. He paused for a moment, weighing the pros and cons before taking a deep breath, "No, being sick has nothing to do with it, but I finally figured out that Gus must have told you," he continued in a much more serious tone with a self-deprecating sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "When the concussion healed enough to realize that cold medicine _doesn't _magically refill itself…At least not in this universe."

Shaking his head at his offspring, Henry decided it was well past time to change the subject, since it wasn't as though Shawn really _needed_ to be told he was sick, and his admitting it didn't change anything in the long run. "You and Gus still going to investigate your foolishness in Ridgecrest tomorrow?" he asked gruffly, futilely hoping that his son's verbal acknowledgement a moment ago might be enough to stop Shawn from jumping right back into the thick of things just yet.

"Well," Shawn hedged, sending alarm bells screaming in his father's head, **_Uh oh..._**"Not exactly, **_I _**am still going, but Gus got called away last minute to some makeup conference in Seattle..."

"Alabama, or Washington?" Henry wondered, interest piqued at the possibility Gus might have had the opportunity to visit one of his favorite places to vacation when he was younger.

"Washington, Dad," Shawn answered, "Even if Gus's conference _was_ in Alabama, do you really think he'd take the time to visit that yacht club you used to rave about?" he asked a question of his own, secretly hoping the nod to one of his father's favorite places might distract him from the issue at hand for a few moments at least. _No such luck…_

"You're probably right, but there's a bigger problem, Shawn. Even with everything that's happened, and the possibility that this thing is far from over," Henry commented, mentioning for the first time that he, too had his doubts about Rind's confession, "You're _still_ planning to go off on your own to some small town almost 4 hours away?" all the while wondering why in the world he had been concerned enough about his son to go looking for him in the first place. A series of rapid fire sneezes from his left answered his unspoken question as he tossed Shawn the box of Kleenex sitting on a stack of books serving as a table next to him.

"Thanks," his son commented, blowing his nose before continuing, "Yes, _especially_ with everything that's happened I have to do this, Dad. I want to help Estelle find her nephew, and I refuse to let what might happen stop me from living my life." Slowly getting up from the couch, Shawn stretched his legs, "If I did that every time someone was a possible threat to me, I'd never leave my apartment…Which I still haven't even thought about cleaning," he muttered under his breath. "Besides," his son forged on, "At least half the Santa Barbara Police Department knows exactly where I'll be," _Even if some of them don't particularly care, _he added silently, the memory of the way the head detective stormed out still fresh in his mind, "And even I went as far as to promise Gus I would keep him updated while I'm out there, no matter how boring the trip may be," turning back to his father, Shawn asked, "What could possibly go wrong?"

Henry got to his feet with a 'can you possibly be serious?' look, retrieving his ball cap from where he'd tossed it on Gus's desk before answering, "With you, Kid, I've learned that _anything_ is possible," walking toward the front door without waiting to see if his son was going to follow, "Now I'm ready to get the hell out of this place, you planning on coming, or spending the night here?"

With a quick shake of his head, Shawn grabbed his jacket, wishing he'd been able to summon the energy to replace the well-worn leather one that had been destroyed on the mountain, _Really not looking forward to breaking another one in..._he thought, knowing he still had some time before his father would free his keys, as he began to follow his father, only to falter as his gaze landed on his desk. After a moment's hesitation, Shawn also decided to keep the coin, which had been silently mocking him from the hard surface, close by, palming it as he headed to the front door, shutting off the lights and making sure he locked the door before pulling it closed behind him as he hustled over to the nondescript rental his father 'had been shafted with,' as the man had been continually insisting. Pointing out that the red sedan was only until the liaison was able to find something on one of the car lots of Santa Barbara that might _possibly _be able to compare to the Ford, _which would have been done already if the man wasn't so freakin' picky,_ simply caused the elder Spencer to launch into a lengthy litany of every reason in the universe why it was ultimately Shawn's fault the truck was destroyed in the first place. _I'm beginning to know how Kevin Bacon feels..._he thought as he reached the car and climbed into the passenger seat, latching his seatbelt as his father pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home.

* * *

_I can't believe Ogletree actually made me hop a plane spur of the moment and fly over 1100 miles for __**this...**_Gus bemoaned as the keynote speaker lost his place in the presentation yet again, _Where the heck did they find this guy, anyway?_ the pharmaceutical salesman wondered as he fought the urge to slouch in his seat, knowing immediately that, if his best friend were here, he'd have an explanation, be it logical or completely nonsensical, as to why exactly the man at the front of the room couldn't keep it together. _And if Shawn actually decided to let his serious side show, _the dark skinned man admitted with a small smile, _Chances were good that his reasoning would be spot on..._

The thought of his best friend brought a pang of regret to Gus's heart, because he'd _much_ rather be getting ready to investigate in Ridgecrest with Shawn than making himself sit through a presentation containing nothing except extremely outdated information, no matter how unlikely it was that their client's nephew still lived anywhere near the area. _Or, as Shawn put it to Mrs. Arthur, though after her caustic set down, I really need to __**try**__ to call her Estelle, no matter how odd…_he blinked, realizing his train of thought was wandering as badly as the speaker's,_ Must be something in the water, _Gus reasoned as he shook himself and tried to remember where he'd been. Oh, yeah, he'd been recalling what Shawn had warned her about that day,_ 'Your nephew sounds like the type of person who doesn't know where he'll be living in three days," to which the spritely lady simply shrugged and answered, "Why do you think I'm sending you schmucks out there instead of wasting my time by going to Ridgecrest myself? Because it certainly isn't for my health..."_

_She certainly was...__**different**_, he finally settled on, wincing at the bland word that was grossly inadequate, but Gus simply couldn't try, and fail, to find a fitting word to describe the wisecracking woman who had kept them on their toes that afternoon even a second longer. The salesman knew exactly why his descriptive dilemma centered around the diminutive woman, because anyone who could keep Shawn Spencer guessing for any length of time not only deserved a unique characterization, but also a medal.

Glancing at his watch when the man at the front of the room stopped talking once again, Gus realized that Shawn should be en route to Ridgecrest at that very moment, in their transportation that Mrs. Arthur had so generously furnished. _While I'm wasting my time here, not even getting the benefit of the newest incarnation of mucus reducers, _he mused, tapping his foot and sighing when he admitted that he'd come full circle on his thought process, trying once again to figure out why exactly Ogletree was so insistent on Gus attending _this _particular conference. _Why __**this**__ one, when they could have sent me to the American Pharmacists Association in San Diego, InformexUSA in Anaheim, or even Molecular Med Tri-Con in San Francisco..._All three conferences were closer to home, jam packed with informative presentations, and attended by some of the top professionals in the industry, while Gus hadn't even heard of the man speaking at the front of the small room.

Forcing himself to focus on the older man, the salesman resisted the urge to check his watch again and absolutely refused to acknowledge just how long it would be before he could board the plane tomorrow...at least out loud, because, hard as Gus tried, he couldn't silence that little voice counting down the hours and screaming at him to walk out of the _second _conference in less than a month and get home as soon as possible.

* * *

**Reviews are like getting a response to a highly anticipated fan letter, they give you that extra push to keep you going, even when you are tempted to scrap the whole dang thing…**


	5. Wanted to Belong but Something felt so

Chapter 5: Wanted to Belong but Something Felt so Wrong, and I don't Know Where They'll Take me…

* * *

Juliet dropped her keys on the table by the door as she passed, carrying the last two bags of groceries into the kitchen, immensely thankful that her errands were finally finished. It was rare for the junior detective to have a Friday off, and when she did she usually spent it with Shawn. _Who's out in Ridgecrest with Gus investigating, _she thought with a sigh, not entirely sure what else she was going to work on now that she was home as she set the cloth bags down on the table with the other groceries.

Bending down to scratch Magellan, who had wandered over and begun head butting her leg, between the ears, she greeted him lovingly, "Hey, Gelly Roll," using the nickname Shawn had given the grey tabby and listening to him purr contentedly before darting off into the living room. Glancing around, Juliet wasn't surprised that Snowball, her other cat, was nowhere in sight as she began to separate the dried goods from the fresh. _If Shawn was here, _she thought, efficiently filling the refrigerator, _He'd be distracting __**me, **__while Snowball would be all over him. I sometimes swear that fuzzy little ninja, as Shawn loved to call her_, _has radar where my boyfriend is concerned, because she always disappears when he's not around. _Though Juliet knew where the fluffy white cat's hiding place was, having stumbled upon the pile of Shawn's shirts Snowball had pilfered during the time the couple had been seriously dating, she had no issues letting the cat hide out on her shrine in the closet.

_I'd hide out too with such a collection, _she thought, _But I still prefer the real thing to his clothing..._folding the last cloth bag, Juliet set the stack on the table by the door so she would remember to put them back in the trunk of her VW Beetle. Once the kitchen was straightened up to her satisfaction, Juliet decided to change into something more comfortable since she was staying in for the rest of the day, after all, _she _had absconded with a few of her boyfriend's shirts as well. _The man's going to be naked at the rate he keeps destroying his clothing and Snowball and I keep stealing it, _she mused impishly with a small smile, only to have the sight of Magellan chasing Snowball across the living room stop her in her tracks the moment she entered the room. _Well, that's odd, _Juliet thought, never having seen the cats quite so active this early in the day before, and it was always Snowball chasing Gelly Roll around when they did.

Once her gaze hit the coffee table, one eyebrow rose in surprise as a part of her mind registered the cats bound around it before heading toward the back of the apartment, because there, sitting on the middle of the low slab of wood was a thick, rectangular package. A package that most definitely _hadn't _been there when she'd left to start her errands a few hours ago.

Juliet slowly approached the area, studying the parcel for several moments as if it were a snake, unsure of how it had gotten there, laying on the coffee table in her apartment that passed even _Carlton's _unrealistic standards of security, before shaking herself and picking it up, testing its weight. Sliding her index and middle finger under the heavy paper, she quickly unwrapped the object, gasping when she immediately recognized it. _How __**does**__ he do that? _She wondered, certain that, with all that had happened in the last two weeks, she'd never mentioned, much less when he was around, how she was looking to buy a copy, lovingly running her hand over the embossed pink leather cover. And there was no doubt in her mind that this was the work of her boyfriend, because only he would go through so much trouble to find a leather bound, gold edged edition of Lewis Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland and Other Stories._ Hugging it to her chest, Juliet continued on her mission, suddenly knowing _exactly _what else she would be doing on her day off.

* * *

Lassiter bit back a few choice words as another file landed on his desk, threatening to send the entire pile crashing to the floor, _Along with the rest of my patience,_ he thought sourly. Even with the added workload, however, the head detective was secretly glad that it was O'Hara's day off, because she would notice immediately that something was on his mind, and, unlike the vast majority of the precinct, would actually badger him until he told her what was bothering him.

_And I can't even explain to __**myself **__what the hell is wrong,_ Lassiter groused, refusing to admit that he hadn't been able to get a certain Benjamin F. Taylor Confederate silver half dollar, or the way Spencer had looked when he'd last seen him, off of his mind. To the point where the head detective found himself doing research, mostly in the form of spur of the moment internet searches from his computer, without really meaning to look into the issue any further. It had finally reached a breaking point when Officer McNab, while dropping off a few more files on Lassiter's desk, had unwittingly interrupted him during one such search, causing him to snap at the tall man simply for asking about the 'cool' coin on the screen. Glancing around once McNab had stuttered an apology and hurried off, Lassiter found the chief, the other blonde in the precinct not afraid to demand answers, watching him from across the bullpen, an unreadable expression on her face.

_It's only a matter of time before she demands I come into her office to find out what the hell is eating at me, _he admitted with a sigh, _And I don't have a freaking clue what explanation I can even begin to offer..._because as much as he wanted to tell himself he was going through such immense effort to prove that Spencer had manufactured the coin as some sort of practical joke, after all the man was perfectly capable of pulling it off, every time he remembered the weight of the coin in his hand, the "O" mint mark, and that damned 1861 date, Lassiter knew it _had_ to be legitimate.

_And you threw it all back in his face, _his conscience nagged him, _The one time the man __**actually**__ proves he possesses at least a shred of common sense and brings the information to you immediately, instead of gallivanting off and nearly getting himself and Guster killed in the process, you let your wounded pride get in the way...and yes, you briefly got to feel superior, but at what cost? _Silently inviting the little voice to shut it, the head detective spent a few more moments fighting with himself before sighing and picking up the phone on his desk, dialing the man's cell phone, only to have the ridiculous voice mail message click on a few rings later. Doubting the younger Spencer would be more likely to answer the phone at his father's house, if he was even still there, the lanky man replaced the phone in its cradle and was debating whether or not to ask Henry about his offspring when it occurred to him just who he was attempting to contact, completely curdling his already sour mood. _What in Sweet Lady Justice am I doing? It's not like I __**know**__ anything is wrong..._the head detective grumbled with a sigh.

Casting a baleful glance at the telephone, as if this new Spencer centered drama, whether real or imagined, was all its fault, the head detective turned back toward the stack of files still on his desk, determined to push all thoughts of the annoying consultant, and whatever trouble he would undoubtedly stumble upon this week, out of his mind. Grabbing the file on the top of the stack, Lassiter flipped it open and starting reviewing the facts on the report, determined to focus on getting _something_ done, only to throw the folder down in frustration when it dawned on him that he'd read the first sentence of the top page three times without managing to absorb any of it.

"Carlton," the chief's voice cut through his thoughts as she approached his desk, hands on her hips as she determined enough was enough, "I need to see you in my office...**_Now_**," she stressed when her head detective made no immediate effort to get out of his seat, before striding over to the doorway. Glancing back to ensure the lanky man had finally complied, she waited for Lassiter to enter the room before shutting the door behind him with a click that rang with the force of a gunshot through the silent office.

* * *

_Wow, watching the scenery roll by is actually __**really **__boring..._Shawn admitted as he stared out the window at the mostly flat land from the back seat of the vehicle that Estelle had provided, heartily sick of the amount of time he'd had lately to sit and contemplate pretty much anything and everything. _Psych needs more private cases, or else I am going to have to try to sweet talk the chief into throwing a couple our way_, Shawn thought with a sigh, knowing the likelihood of that wasn't promising until the majority of his injuries had finished healing, and, even though the only lingering effects to the faux psychic seemed to be his broken wrist, several lingering deep tissue bruises from the truck's seat belt, and a nasty cold he'd acquired after his bout in the ditch, Chief Vick had made it painfully clear during her visit to the hospital that Shawn wasn't so much as think about showing his face in the station before getting _her_ authorization.

He shifted as the SUV hit a particularly deep rut, attempting to find a more comfortable position on the plush seat as the vehicle bounced along the badly paved road, recalling the man, and the painting, at the center of the recent turn of events.

_"__And what do you have to say for yourself, Shawn?" the Horse Thief Country Club's assistant golf course superintendent demanded gravely, pacing back and forth behind the desk that dwarfed his small office, one of the two items in the room that the man seemed to adore to the point of obsession, before turning back to the slouched twenty six year old in the armchair opposite him. "__**Well?**__" he insisted irately when the resort's newest, and most irresponsible, employee failed to offer any explanation for his actions._

**_Note to self,_** _Shawn thought as he tuned out his boss's rant about his latest indiscretion, __**Sling shooting golf balls from the pond, while highly effective, may **_not **_be the most acceptable way to return them_**._ Watching the heavy set man pace for a few minutes longer, the young man waited for the inevitable to occur, __**especially**__ when Ragin' Roger had happened to park his brand new Ferrari 612 Scaglietti in the path of one such projectile..._**Maybe I can distract old Roger for a moment by bringing up his favorite painting, **_he thought quickly. After all the tactic had worked when he'd crashed that pesky golf cart into the massive oak three days ago, and again when he'd lost a fairly expensive piece of equipment at the bottom of the pond on hole 5 yesterday._

**He does seem to love that thing, **_Shawn mused but, even if one squinted enough, and a person might be able to see a certain resemblance to the international welcome fruit, the golf ball diver of four days simply couldn't understand the appeal of twelve random globs of color against such a stark white canvas. _**But if it might take off some of the heat, it's worth a shot, **_Shawn admitted, reluctantly acknowledging to himself that the majority of this could have been avoided...But there was just __**something**__ about the irate man in front of him that rubbed him the wrong way; something that kinda reminded him of his old man, and continually caused him to see just how far he could push the assistant superintendent._

The red Cadillac took a turn on two wheels, throwing the faux psychic painfully against his seatbelt, aggravating the deep tissue bruise on his shoulder and pulling him, rather forcefully, out of his reverie. Blinking, Shawn glanced out the window, surprised to see how much the scenery had changed during the time he had been lost in thought. The land that had been dominated by open spaces, with one of the state's several mountain ranges prominently visible in the background, when the private detective had last looked, had morphed into slightly softer, more hilly terrain, where, while the mountains were still noticeable, they were partially hidden behind several groves of trees.

Before too long, however, Shawn noticed several indicators that they were closing in on their final destination as the buildings became more plentiful and closer together the farther the Escalade travelled down the bumpy road. Glancing toward the silent driver, the faux psychic was surprised to meet the middle aged man's eyes in the rearview mirror, an unreadable expression on the weathered face. _Alright, that's odd, and only __**slightly **__creepy,_ Shawn thought uneasily, turning back to the window as he opened one of the three bottles of water that was sitting in the back seat with him. _This SUV can't get to Ridgecrest __**soon**__ enough for my liking, _he reasoned as he took a drink, scrunching his nose at the slightly off taste of the water, before using the reflective surface of the chrome trim to glance at the date on the bottom and quickly setting the plastic container back with the other two. _Nice as it was for Estelle to go through all this trouble, I think I'm going to figure out another way home..._Shawn admitted to himself, _Especially since beady eyes up there is quite likely my ride and all her water seems to be past the 'best by' date, to boot..._

Breathing a sigh of relief as the vehicle finally pulled up in front of the Carriage Inn ten minutes later, Shawn briefly wondered if Jules had made it back to her apartment yet to find the surprise he'd left for her, wishing for all the world he was there with her. _I think I might actually listen to the chief's 'advice' and take a small breather once I finish this investigation,_ Shawn thought, stifling a yawn as he got out of the SUV, stumbling slightly. _Either all that riding really made me tired, _he groused, ready to check into his room, _Or I still am fighting the lingering effects of the cold I managed to pick up..._

Extremely thankful he didn't have any luggage to cart into the building, Shawn made a beeline for the front desk, gently shaking his head to dispel the slightly dizzy feeling being on his feet after the long ride had caused. Ignoring the look an inn employee directed his way as he passed by, Shawn made it to the front desk and got his room key without any major incident before heading to his room at the far end of the building, stopping every so often to let his vision clear. An agonizingly slow five minutes later the hazel eyed man finally reached his room, though thankfully the area of the hotel was mostly deserted, since managing to unlock the door with the old fashioned key had turned into a seemingly impossible task. _Dude, how many hotels don't have key cards?_

After the sixth attempt he succeeded in removing the obstacle by unlocking it, stumbling into the room when the door gave away, and letting the momentum as it bounced off the wall swing the wood shut behind him, the key stuck in the lock, forgotten. Glancing around the hotel room as his vision continued to swim, Shawn's gaze fell to the doorway that had to lead to the bedroom and the promise of a soft, flat surface just out of reach. Shawn chose to head for the couch the instead, since it was only about ten feet in front of him along with a small end table, and he was feeling as though he might not even make it that far. Indeed, the light headed man had only made it about half the distance when he pitched forward, barely catching himself on the end table and narrowly missing falling face first on the thin carpet. Hoping the dizziness would pass if he just laid down for a moment, even if the floor of his rented room wasn't anywhere remotely near his top ten locations of places to lounge, Shawn slowly eased himself into a prone position, resting his head on his right arm and letting his eyes drift closed, unable to fight the pull of sleep.

_OK, being sick is the clear cut winner, but I must be a helluva lot sicker than I thought..._

"I thought that Lee was supposed to be bringin' him by the airport in the Escalade," the more stout of the two men griped in frustration as they worked their way down the old hallway, trying to look as natural as possible for the few people they happened to pass.

"Well, he was gonna," the other man responded as they drew closer to the man's room, "But apparently the guy didn't drink any of the water until they came into town, so he had no choice but to actually bring him here." Neither man wanted to be the one to call Potter and tell her of the turn of events, because they were both deathly afraid of the woman's temper, and when they had witnessed it thus far was usually over small things like her favorite brand of water being out of stock. _I don't even __**wanna**__ know whose head is gonna roll over this setback. _Finally the mark's door came into sight, the hotel key still fully in the lock. Exchanging a look, the two men stood there for a moment before the taller of the two removed the key and opened the door, performing a visual sweep of the room before slipping inside and motioning for the other to join him.

The shorter of the two simply shook his head, not liking just how messed up this entire thing had already become, and not even wanting to know how they were supposed to move the unconscious man lying in the middle of the living room without any of the inn employees taking notice.


	6. Clouds Pass over the Moon

Still not mine still wish they were...Oh well...

* * *

Chapter 6: Clouds pass over the Moon like an eye that Shows Impending Doom

"Can I help yo-" the toe headed man began only to be cut off by the irate man across from him.

"No," Henry barked, startling the fresh faced salesman as he fervently wished for the ability to look for a new vehicle in some semblance of peace. _Why couldn't California be a state that still enforces 'blue laws' so that I would have the ability to just browse Sunday without every employee in the place bombarding me one after another? _Even though he knew exactly what he was looking for, mainly a basic older model truck to replace the totaled Ford that he'd had towed from the water soaked ditch, the former police detective had been unable to come remotely close to meeting even a fraction of the criteria on his list.

_And every single one of these clowns that have "offered" their help just wanted to push me into purchasing the newest model truck on the lot, _Henry grumbled with a sigh as he watched the blonde hurry off like the hounds of hell were on his heels. _Now it's just a countdown until the __**next**__ one tries his luck..._Having searched every car lot in the city for something he could not only feel comfortable driving around in but also was affordable enough to purchase with the insurance check he'd received, the liaison was about ready to throw in the towel and that was how he'd ended up at some place as ridiculously named as _Giggity _Motors. Already feeling like the trip was going to turn out to be a total bust, Henry was halfheartedly scanning the lot when a gray haired man in an Armani suit purposefully approached him.

"Howdy, is there anything I can help you with? You seem to be searching for something in particular..." The man remarked, recalling the man's dismissal of Jerry he'd witnessed a few minutes ago before continuing on when he received no immediate response. "I'm Bo Giggity, the proprietor of this fine establishment."

Shaking his head, Henry turned toward the other man, debating for a moment over whether or not to accept the man's assistance. _I suppose there isn't a better way to know, other than scouring the entire lot while avoiding every salesman, if they have something that might possibly come remotely close to replacing my Ford, _he admitted briefly before he began to explain what he was looking for. "I'm looking for an _older model_ truck," Henry stressed, watching Bo to see if his attention wandered. To his surprise, unlike every other salesman he'd encountered on his search, the other man simply nodded and waited. "Preferably a Ford; nothing fancy," he insisted, thinking of the $50,000 vehicles others had paraded in front of his face, "Either a regular cab or an extended cab and a full bed would be fine."

It was a minute before the owner spoke, "You looking to replace a similar truck?" He asked, correctly guessing as he motioned for Henry to follow him toward the building, "Unfortunately," Bo continued once both men drew closer to the structure, "We don't stock anything like that, because we tend to focus more on modern luxury," he admitted., pushing on quickly when he felt the demeanor of his potential customer shift, "But we _do_ have an extensive network of satellite offices at our disposal, so finding a truck that meets your criteria shouldn't be an issue, though you may have to wait a bit for it to get here..."

Neither man saw the pink Cadillac convertible pull into the parking lot next to Henry's rental or the well-built woman climb out, saunter over to the sedan and peer inside to scope out the interior as they headed into Bo's office. She then made a beeline for the sandy haired salesman that the liaison had dismissed earlier and began peppering him with questions.

It was a mere twenty minutes later, just as Henry and Bo were ironing out the final details on the first vehicle he'd seen, a blue 1995 Ford F250 that was currently on a lot in upstate California, when the liaison got the first inkling that Endora had tracked him down. Trying to assure himself that this entire thing could be completely coincidental, he trailed off midsentence as he peered around the doorjamb of Bo's office as surreptitiously as possible, causing the owner to raise an eyebrow in surprise. Ignoring the look for the moment, Henry focused on trying to catch as much of the conversation as he could, the only snippet he was able to catch only managed to confirm his suspicions. _OK, this is starting to get way out of hand..._he admitted, his heart sinking as he listened to the woman wax on about "full beds and campers."

Suddenly, Henry's phone vibrated, alerting him to a new text message and pulling him away from the shock of hearing _that _woman's voice talking about _his_ potential truck. Flipping it open, the liaison frowned at the short nonsensical blurb, not certain which event bothered him more, the continued stalker like tendencies of the nurse, who'd not only seen, and recognized, his rental car but had also actually come onto the lot to see if she could find him, or the odd text from his son that, while nothing really stood out to Henry as wrong, just didn't feel quite right...

* * *

_Have a nasty cold, but am eating a peanut butter, jelly and sardine sandwich..._

Gus stared at his phone screen in mute shock, which quickly began to morph into affronted disbelief. I know I told Shawn I wanted to be informed of_ **anything, **__no matter how small, but this is just...wrong_, the pharmaceutical salesman concluded with a grimace, tossing his cell back onto the lumpy bedspread. Though he really had to admit wrong didn't quite do the text justice either as he debated heading to the airport now, even though his flight technically didn't leave for another 7 hours.

Even without the electronic in his hand, Gus wasn't able to shake the mental image his friend's text had firmly implanted in his brain, or the fact that something about the odd message just seemed un-Shawn-like. Deciding he had more than enough time to try to figure it out, the pharmaceutical salesman seated himself at the room's small desk, grabbing the square notepad and pen the hotel had provided. Tapping the cheap ballpoint pen in a rapid rhythm on the wooden surface, the dark skinned man broke the message down systematically.

_First of all,_ Gus began, jotting down some shorthand notes, _Since when does Shawn actually __**admit**__ he's sick? _The last time his friend had done it was shortly after he'd started dating Juliet, with the purpose of beefing up a mostly non-existent flu bug simply to gain sympathy from his girlfriend, perhaps the only person in Shawn's life that might not have been instantly aware of that particular con. _Not that it did him much good, _he thought with a chuckle, remembering just how quickly she had seen through the ruse and gone out of her way to make the faux psychic regret the idiotic idea, while never letting on that she knew he was faking it. _So either, he's looking for sympathy he knows he's not going to get, _Gus reasoned, _Or the cold he's been fighting for the last week turned nasty enough for him to acknowledge it without having someone twist his arm..._

The second thing that stood out to him about Shawn's message had to do with the way it was worded. _Shawn's always cutting corners when he messages me, _the dark skinned man grumbled,_ Usually coming up with some lame excuse involving his __love of 'using nuance, his signature mocking tone, and just the right amount of emoticons' to explain any concerns away. _Gus, however, felt that Shawn's texts never used anything _less_ than an overabundance of emoticons, sometimes to the point of making the message almost indecipherable, especially when he started creating, and adding, his own word abbreviations to the mix. Realizing he was essentially complaining because his best friend's text _wasn't _a jumbled mess, Gus shook his head and forced himself to move on with his break down of the message.

The last part of the text that bothered the pharmaceutical salesman was the sandwich combination that his best friend claimed to be eating, because as far as Gus knew, Shawn didn't even _like_ sardines, let alone have enough of an appetite for them to make such a ridiculous combination. _So either he's trying to pull my leg about the contents of his sandwich, _Gus admitted, adding to his increasing list of notes, _Or he's totally out of options as far as food goes. _He looked down in surprise as his stomach seemed to rumble in agreement to his last thought, glancing around the bare hotel room in hopes that something edible would magically materialize. When nothing did, Gus sighed in resignation before grabbing his room key and cell phone and heading out to see what he could scare up in terms of food.

_And I truly don't care __**what **__it is, just as long as it's not a peanut butter, jelly, and sardine sandwich..._

* * *

"O'Ha-" The head detective's voice trailed off as he caught sight of his partner across the room next to the coffee machine, brow furrowed in confusion as she focused on something on her cell phone screen. Knowing whatever it was that was causing her concern wasn't about to help his already completely craptastic mood, he let out a deep sigh, grabbed his mostly empty mug, and started to make his way over just as she pulled the phone away from her ear, mashing the end call button in frustration. As Lassiter drew within earshot he could hear her muttering under her breath, something the usually perky blonde _never _would have done if everything was even remotely alright, but was unable to catch any words other than 'technology' and 'cryptic' as he refreshed his cold coffee.

_What'd the man child do __**now**__? _he immediately asked himself, cringing because just the thought of the annoying consultant was certainly more than enough to send his mind into overdrive about his last encounter with the man and that blasted coin. A coin that, under any other circumstances just being able to see it would have been a dream come true for the Civil War re-enactor, was rapidly turning into a nightmare of epic proportions that had become the source of his recent lack of restorative sleep.

_And, of course one can't forget it's also entirely responsible for my grueling meeting with Chief Vick yesterday, _Lassiter admitted with a grimace, _Where, after repeated denials on my part and an inordinate amount of persuasion, orders, and eventual threats on hers, I caved and told her a ridiculous story that __**shouldn't**__ even bear repeating..._What might have been more surprising to the lanky man, however, was the blonde's reaction once his narrative had wound down to nothing more than a sheepish look directed across the desk. Instead of scoffing at him or showing any indication, outwardly at least, that she felt her head detective had dived off the deep end without the benefit of a floatation device, the chief had simply given Lassiter an assessing look before asking, "_Do you really think that this is related to that mess with the Drinfelds_?" When he'd grudgingly admitted that it was looking more and more likely that Spencer was actually onto something, she'd nodded and issued him a direct order, "_Alright, then keep me informed of any new developments, Detective_," clearly dismissing him as she went back to the report on her desk. He'd almost reached the door when her next words stopped him, "_Oh, and Carlton? Let's just keep this between the two of us until we have something to go on_..."

Shaking himself out of the memory as he splashed hot coffee on his hand, Lassiter cursed silently, shooting a concerned look at O'Hara as he grabbed sugar and cream, wondering if keeping her in the dark was really the best idea. After all, she was bound to hear about it sooner or later, more than likely from Spencer himself when he got back into town, and to say that she would be less than pleased to be left out of the loop would be a massive understatement. _I've already seen her competitive side, _he recalled with a grimace, _Not entirely sure I want to even __**know**__ if she has a vindictive one. _But he knew full well that the order from Chief Vick superseded his personal inclination on what should be done in this particular instance, so once he had his life saving caffeine fix all set to go, he breached the distance to lean against the counter next to her and took a rejuvenating sip, simply lending his presence while he let his partner's train of thought run its course.

"Seriously, with **all** the technology available today, how in the world can Shawn send me such a cryptic text one minute and not be near his phone to answer it the next?_" _Juliet quietly vented in a rare show of frustration as she stabbed the end button and put her phone back into her pocket, already in a less than stellar mood due to the extremely limited amount of time she'd gotten to spend with Shawn over the last few weeks. Even the fact that her Blackberry had been replaced today when the cellular company had _finally_ determined the electronic couldn't be repaired from its bout with Snowball's water dish, though exactly _how _it had ended up there was still a mystery to her, and that she could put her old flip phone back into storage wasn't enough to lift her spirits.

Silently watching her partner hesitantly make his way over and pour himself yet another cup of coffee, Juliet sighed and tried to work the kinks out of her stiff neck. The fact that she hadn't slept much the night before, due to a certain fuzzy little ninja that kept pouncing on her every time she started to drift off, only to disappear the moment the junior detective had swatted out at her did nothing for her already frazzled nerves. _Snowball __**never**__ gets that close to me unless she wants food or water and she had plenty of both when I laid down last night,_ she thought as she took a sip of her own mug of strong coffee, wondering if the white ball of fluff was simply missing Shawn, much as she was, or if there was something else going on with the fickle feline.

When Carlton flinched as he splashed the hot liquid on his hand, a faraway look on his face, Juliet remembered something that Buzz had mentioned to her when she'd caught him in the hallway of the station earlier. Giving her partner an assessing look, she wondered just what it was about an old coin that, though he was an avid Civil War enthusiast, even going as far as to talk about his fourth great grandfather, Mascomb, in great detail, and extremely knowledgeable with history and guns, would cause him to lash out so harshly at the young officer. _Well, I __**might **__not be able to get to the bottom of this mess with Shawn, _she admitted, _But I certainly plan to figure out what is eating at Carlton before the day is over._

Realizing that he'd been standing quietly next to her for the past few minutes, Juliet took a final sip of her coffee before setting the mug down and turning toward him. Before she could ask what was on his mind, however, the lanky man had put his own mug to lips, taking a long drink before asking from behind the green ceramic cup, "So what did Spencer do this time?" causing her to blink for a few seconds before answering.

"Probably nothing at all," Juliet assured him quickly before quietly admitting, "_But_ he sent me a strange text message," she frowned as she recalled the downright bizarre words that would forever be imprinted on her memory, "And when I tried to call him immediately to ask about it, it simply rang and rang until the voicemail picked up...So," she continued thoughtfully, "I ended the call and tried his cell again, thinking maybe it was just a bad connection, and this time it went _straight_ to voicemail." Not giving Carlton the opportunity to tell her she was being ridiculous, and already calling herself a thousand kinds of fool for letting this get to her, she whipped back around to pick up her mug, completely missing the deep frown that had settled on her partner's face.

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she took a drink of coffee before lowering the mug and turning back toward the man who was studying the floor tiles as he drank his own java. Deciding he wasn't about to bring up what was bothering him, she remarked in a casual tone, covertly studying his face as she did so, "So, anything interesting happen here while I was gone yesterday?" Not missing the very slow, deliberate swallow of her partner, Juliet continued doggedly, "Particularly having to do with internet searches or old coins?" Carlton's sudden tension told her everything she needed to know, even before he gave her his stuttered answer of, "Uhhhhhhh...no, nothing comes to mind."

Letting the subject drop for the moment with a soft "Mhm," Juliet knew that, if it was the last thing she did, she was _**sooooooo**_ getting to the bottom of whatever was going on around here, and soon.

* * *

Reviews are like wishing someone a very merry Half Birthday…amusing and entertaining, not unlike wishing the same person a very merry _**Un **_Birthday ;P


	7. Well I'm not Sure What this is Gonna Be

Still not mine, but heck, I will probably never stop wishing that they were…

Chapter 7: Well, I'm not Sure what this is Gonna be but with My Eyes Closed all I See is the Skyline through the Window...

Shawn cracked open one eye blearily as if the skin of his lid weighed a thousand pounds, immediately wishing he hadn't because the movement, miniscule as it was, sent his world spinning, stomach churning, and head throbbing with such an intensity that had him wondering if anyone had gotten the license plate number on the truck that must have blindsided him in his sleep. But since Shawn realized he had no recollection of actually _going_ to bed, or the events immediately preceding that event, he slowly searched his memory for anything at all that could have led to the extreme misery he was now experiencing, only to be left with a racing heartbeat as he was able to come up with two measly clear facts from his foggy mind.

One, the last thing he remember with any semblance of clarity was getting out of the Escalade and heading over to the front desk at the inn in Ridgecrest to get his key before starting toward his room, and two, from the damp chilliness that fairly blanketed the area he was in, he _definitely _better be waking up someplace other than the hotel. _Because if I __**am **__still at the Carriage Inn, these are by far the worst accommodations I have ever been subjected to in all of my travels, _Shawn admitted with a sigh, and that was saying something, considering he'd spent more than a few nights during his travels bunking down in abandoned barns and various outbuildings when he could not find other, more suitable, lodgings or even sprawled out on park benches under the mercy of the elements when his supply of money was either extremely tight or simply nonexistent.

All of this information, while useful for telling Shawn what he _didn't _know, amounted to a grand total of nothing when it came to helping him figure out exactly what in the world had happened. _And why it seemingly happened again..._he admitted, hating the feeling of deja vu at waking up in a strange place where he obviously hadn't gone to bed. Though the logical part of Shawn's brain, if he could get past the pounding long enough to listen to it, would be pointing out that this new mess he'd found himself in simply _had_ to be related to that blasted Civil War half dollar because he really hoped even _he_ didn't have bad enough luck to wake up in a strange place twice in one month if the circumstances were unrelated, the rest of his muddled thoughts were too busy vying to be heard for him to find the energy to do anything more productive than simply lay there on the cold ground.

The longer he stayed in one position, however, the more it struck Shawn that what he'd previously thought to simply be a damp chilliness lingering in the air, causing him moderate discomfort, was actually a frigid iciness that was seeping clear through the rough, wooden floor boards on which he was laying and sapping him of precious energy, chilling him to the bone. _Almost like that time I ran out of gas and was forced to hunker down in a shed to wait out a sudden storm in Minnesota, _he recalled with a grimace as he tried to make his stiff muscles shift positions, _Damn near gave myself frostbite, even with the protection the meager shelter offered. _As it was, things would have turned out much worse if the owner of the structure hadn't decided to make one last round to secure all of his outbuildings when a lull in the weather front hit and discovered the half frozen man in the process. "Thank-fully, R-rick let me stay in his barn till the storm passed," he muttered, his chattering teeth causing him to stutter slightly in the cold air as he finally inched himself into a sitting position against the hard wall.

The change from being prone increased the roaring in his ears and somersaulting in his stomach to the point he had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut and take several deep breaths in an attempt to ride it out without losing the last food that he'd eaten. _Though I truly have no idea how long ago it was that I ate that peanut butter, banana and pineapple sandwich, _Shawn admitted, immediately regretting the thought of food, and the reaction his stomach was having to it, as he focused on simply breathing in and out for several moments. _Man, it's __**definitely**__ bad when anything having to do with food becomes the enemy_, the hazel eyed man griped, momentarily more upset by that particular fact than waking up, with the lingering effects of whatever drug he'd been slipped, in a strange wasn't until he felt himself start to drift off that he forced himself to once again work his eyes open a sliver at a time, immensely thankful when the debilitating nausea didn't rush back at full force. _It's just soooooo cold, _he thought miserably, really hoping he wasn't back in the land of 10,000 lakes, because this time of year, the 11, 842 lakes the state boasted about that were over 10 acres would surely be frozen over by now. _And I simply don't know how much more abuse my body is going to willingly take before it goes on that vacation without me, _the faux psychic admitted tiredly as he tried to reason through the jumbled thoughts that currently made up his brain.

Suddenly the door on the other side of the room flew open, bouncing forcefully off the wall and causing Shawn to flinch as the frigid air came rushing in along with two very large men, who rapidly descended on him and roughly dragged him off the ground by his arms, propelling him out of the small room before he truly had a chance to process exactly what the hell was happening. Trying to keep the nausea at bay while he was propelled along by the burly men, Shawn thought to himself with self-deprecating laugh, _Guess I am going to find out sooner rather than later just what the hell is going on..._

* * *

Detective O'Hara looked up from the search she was performing on her computer screen as a familiar shadow fell across her desk, meeting the concerned glance of Buzz McNab with a comforting smile as he placed a file on the already cluttered surface. Immediately able to ascertain from his pensive expression and tense body language that the tall man had something weighing heavily on his mind, Juliet stood up only to catch the intense look her boyfriend's father, who had only recently returned from lunch, was directing their way from his desk across the precinct. Sincerely hoping that piercing look wasn't an omen of things to come, she followed Buzz's retreating figure as he headed toward the file room with the rest of the stack of reports, determined to find out what was on his mind.

The tall man was unaware that the blonde had left her desk and was trailing behind him until they reached the heavy door and he turned, the sight of Juliet standing so close startling him out of his thoughts. "Detective O'Hara, I had no idea you were there," Buzz remarked in surprise, hugging the remaining files to his chest as he tried to regain his composure, and more than a little embarrassed that he'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed her follow him from her desk in the bullpen. _Yeah, like I'm really going to be a __**great**__ detective someday, _he thought in disappointment, kicking his right foot back and forth absentmindedly, _I wasn't even aware that Detective O'Hara was behind me all that time..._.

"Something on your mind, Buzz?" Juliet asked gently, pulling him out of his thoughts, sorry she was finally seeing a less than upbeat Buzz McNab and letting the tall officer ride out the feeling in sympathetic silence before he answered.

"It's probably nothing," Buzz began hesitantly, clearly hoping the detective would just let the subject drop, but falling silent when she merely raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking remarkably like her boyfriend, one of the main objects of his concern. "But," he continued after a moment, "Since you mentioned it, there _is_ something that has been bothering me," giving Juliet a searching look, the officer asked, "Am I imagining it or did I do something to make everyone angry at me?"

Of all the things she'd been expecting Buzz to say, his response wouldn't have even cracked the top twenty possibilities. "What would make you think that, Buzz?" she replied, trying to get to the bottom of the tall officer's reasoning while at a complete loss as to what incidents he could be referring.

"Well," he answered, bowing his head to avoid meeting the blonde's gaze, "I already told you about Detective Lassiter snapping at me the other day for asking about the coin on his computer screen, but it's so much more than that," he hurriedly explained when Juliet opened her mouth to reassure him about her partner's mood. "It's also how short the chief has been the last three days whenever I ask her anything, the irate looks that Mr. Spencer keeps shooting at me from across the bullpen, and..." Buzz trailed off, still looking at his feet, wondering if he really sounded as ridiculous as he _thought_ he did right now.

"And?" Juliet persisted softly, shooting Henry a reprimanding look over Buzz's shoulder when she spotted him lurking about five feet behind the tall officer.

"Well, Shawn isn't answering or returning my phone calls," he answered finally, noticing her visibly start out of the corner of his eye, and eventually glancing up at the blonde when she responded.

"Mine either, Buzz," she admitted sadly, at a loss of what to tell him. This thing with Shawn was quickly going from strange to worrying, but, as long as her boyfriend at least checked in by text, she honestly didn't know what, if anything, she could really do about it.

Buzz blinked at her in surprise, processing the information before a thought occurred to him. "Wasn't he only supposed to be gone one night? I thought he was coming home yesterday…"

"Or today," Henry's voice cut in, having moved closer to the pair while they were engrossed in conversation. "And he doesn't answer my calls either, Buzz, he just keeps sending me these ridiculous text messages."

"Mr. Spencer..." Buzz's greeting trailed off, his voice revealing his apprehension about how much the older man had overheard of his talk with Detective O'Hara, particularly the comment he'd made about the liaison. Juliet briefly closed her eyes, hoping against hope that Henry would handle this with more diplomacy then she'd seen him use with his son on countless occasions.

"Buzz," the liaison replied with a small nod of his head before continuing on as if he had just happen upon the pair and hadn't been standing there for the past five minutes, much to Juliet's relief, "Juliet, everything alright over here?"

"Yes, Henry, we're fine," turning back toward Buzz, she remarked, "Well, I certainly have kept you from your work long enough, I've got a mountain of paperwork of my own that I need to finish. But," Juliet added, "As soon as I either hear from or see Shawn, I will let you know," before heading back toward the bullpen, more questions than answers rattling around in her head then before she had stopped Buzz to find out what was going on with him.

Questions that just kept multiplying when she reached the top step and spied her partner, who'd been strangely absent all morning while she'd caught up on paperwork, slip stealthily out of the chief's office, silently pulling the door shut behind him. Eyes immediately narrowing at Carlton's suspicious behavior, Juliet simply observed him for a moment, wondering why such a routine occurrence as talking to Chief Vick would warrant the lanky man to act as though he was trying to avoid someone. _Most likely me or Henry, _she thought, furrowing her brow and confirming her theory when he glanced around the bullpen a second later, starting slightly when he spied her on the stairs, before making his expression as normal as possible as he approached. _Oh, yes, something is __**definitely **__going on, and looks like the chief is in on it as well..._

"O'Hara," he greeted awkwardly once he'd reached the top of the stairs, posture stiff as he continued in a less than convincing voice, "I was just looking for you..."

_Yeah, and you and Shawn have suddenly become best friends, _she thought with a snort, _Getting upset with him isn't going to get me anywhere, _Juliet reminded herself, taking a calming breath before answering. "What's up, Carlton?"

"I need you to handle things here for a couple of days, O'Hara, while I go take care of a few...family matters," he said with a grimace, clearly not anymore thrilled with handing over control of things now then he was a few years ago when the chief had ordered him to let her be lead a case for the first time.

With a small nod Juliet responded quietly, "Well, I hope everything will be OK, Carlton," turning to head back to her desk, and subsequently the stack of paperwork that would now be her sole responsibility, at least until the lanky man made it back.

Even though she was no longer facing her partner, she couldn't help overhear him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "He'd better be," under his breath before heading down the stairs and out the door of the station, the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

* * *

Reviews are like watching me make three wrong turns in a row from lack of sleep, they leave you shaking your head and wondering just what is wrong with that person…but highly, highly entertaining xD


	8. Where can You Run to Escape from Yourse

As always, still not mine, still wish they were (cuz then they'd still be on the air...)

* * *

Chapter 8: Where can You Run to Escape from Yourself, Where You Gonna go?

Contrary to what his partner might think, Lassiter was less concerned with her ability to keep the department running smoothly in his absence than he was about his meeting with the chief earlier when she ordered him, in extremely explicit terms, to get his rear out to Ridgecrest and see what he could find out, while keeping it quiet from _everyone_ in the process, since there wasn't anything they could officially do at this point in time. And that is what made the entire ordeal so trying for Lassiter because, while being talked into tracking down the department's wayward psychic would normally be about par for the course at some point during his week, the head detective almost always had his partner with him watching his back, if not the vast majority of the police department, when trying to figure out exactly what trouble the consultant stumbled into _this _time. Resolutely squashing the niggling little voice that insisted he knew _exactly _what was to blame for this particular fiasco, Lassiter focused on the task at hand as he made a right turn at the light. _In fact, this whole assignment seems more like a job __**Spencer**__would vie for, _he thought with a grimace, figuring the man child would jump at the chance to do the cloak and dagger routine, whereas the head detective had been dreading every minute of it.

_Starting with the confrontation with O'Hara on the steps of the station before I left to follow the chief's orders, _he admitted as he continued toward his place to pick up a few things, _extremely _uncomfortable with lying to his partner. _Especially since she's not an imbecile,_ Lassiter mused, even if she _did_ choose to date one. Shaking his head, he changed lanes and refused to go down that same dead end line of thought, pulling his train of thought back to the spirited blonde while he pulled into the parking lot of his condo building. No, O'Hara knew something was up, _had_ known since she'd come into work yesterday and talked to Buzz McNab, expending a large amount of energy trying to get him to spill his guts. So far, the only thing that had kept the lanky man from blurting out everything was the steely look in the Chief's eyes both times she'd firmly ordered him to keep this silent, _or else. _And while his partner could easily break his legs once she found out what was being kept from her, it was Chief Vick that could effortlessly ruin his career, so the option of letting O'Hara in on this right now simply wasn't feasible.

Walking to his front door, he didn't even bother wasting the effort to tell himself that fact was the only reason he was heading over four hours out of his way on a trip that would probably turn out to be a complete and utter waste of his time. As much as he wanted to, or even would have relished holding the information over Spencer's head at one point in time when it came back in his favor, the truth was that too much had happened with the consultant over the years for Lassiter not to consider him, on some level at least, a friend. And when the lanky man thought about how few true friends he had, let alone any that would go to such great lengths to exonerate him of murder charges, even if Lassiter returned the favor by saving Spencer's life in the process, the least he could do was take a couple days out of his block of stored vacation time to make sure the consultant was just being his normal, irresponsible self.

After twenty minutes he was changed, actually foregoing his usual civis of a suit and suede buck in favor of a pair of dark washed jeans, dark blue pullover, and tennis shoes in an attempt to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and headed back out the door to begin his long drive. Lassiter climbed into his vehicle, fired it up, and buckled his seatbelt before navigating easily through town in the early afternoon traffic, pulling into the Chevron gas station. A large cup of coffee and tank of gas later, the lanky man was finally merging onto US 395 S, hoping he was far enough ahead of rush hour to make good time all the way to Ridgecrest, where he was going to grab the annoying man child and escort him home, even if he had to handcuff the hazel eyed nuisance to the door frame to do it.

_Your ass better __**not**__ be in danger, Spencer, because if it is, then there's a good chance you won't live long enough for me to shoot you for hurting O'Hara…_Something that was still a sure bet as far as Lassiter was concerned, and not having the annoying consultant around to carry his threat out on simply wasn't something the head detective was willing to even contemplate.

* * *

_I am in soooooooo much trouble that it's no small wonder those guys haven't killed me yet, _Shawn thought miserably as he listened to the three men argue in the other part of the room, trying to keep whatever scant contents remained in his stomach where they belonged, and, after failing to do so once he'd been thrown into the back of the ice cold van earlier, knew it was a lot easier said than done. Focusing on his breathing, he was able to catch snippets of the conversation from the other room between the two gigantic men who'd rushed into the small room and dragged him out, and the wiry redhead with glasses, who had to have been the driver on what could only be described as an extremely harrowing journey.

Using the few functioning brain cells he currently possessed, Shawn figured the frantic weaving in and out of traffic, which had been the cause of him throwing up all over the back of the van en route to wherever the hell he currently was, could only mean he was in a major city. That, and the frigid cold that had seemed to permeate every fiber of his being, suggested that he was a lot farther from home than he would have ever thought remotely possible. _Like somewhere in the Midwest or the Northeast..._he realized, not having anything more to go in order to pinpoint a more exact location without being able to _see_ something that existed outside of dark, boarded up rooms and blacked out van windows..._I just hope I'm still within the good US of A, _he admitted, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, along with the faint sound of the men talking.

The voices became more distinct as the three men came back toward the closed door, _"Damn it, man," _came the whiney one, "_He threw up all over the back of my van! Do you have any idea just how hard it's gonna be to get the smell out?"_ only to be interrupted when a much more forceful tone cut in.

"_Quit yer' whining, Bobby, you know you can't do anything until they get here...and that she specifically ordered us to leave him alone, __**or else**__..." _ Two things about the man's statement, who the faux psychic had dubbed 'Tweedle-dee', immediately struck Shawn as he sat there, and he mentally added them to the ever growing list of "Things to use to figure out the coin conundrum." At least, he planned to solve the whole mystery if he managed to live long enough to get out of this room, something that was looking less and less like a possibility the more he tried to wrap his battered brain around it. The 'they' Tweedle-dee referred to clearly told Shawn that there were at least two people looking for this coin, and therefore him by association, and the fact that all three of the guys in the next room were unwilling to risk the wrath of at least one of the ambiguous 'they,' quite likely the 'she' that one of the thugs referenced, didn't exactly bode well for his chances of surviving this.

_Whatever __**this**__ is,_ he grumbled, beginning to freak out over the complete absence of facts when the sound of an engine approaching caused his heart to skip a beat and his stomach to drop to somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. The echo of car doors slamming in the space once the engine was shut off only added to his anxiety, as did the tell-tale click clack of high heels on the concrete that steadily grew in volume a few moments later. _Well, ready or not, it looks like it's time to find out what's behind door number one, _Shawn mused sarcastically, grimacing when he realized if this truly was the last reference he'd ever make he really couldn't have done much worse, while inching himself up the wall behind him just as the heavy slab flew inward and several people, beginning with the three thugs, filled the room.

It was two of the newcomers, however, that entered in the midst of the two muscled men and a few others that caught Shawn's attention, a well built, but middle aged, man with dyed jet black locks and fierce green eyes and an attractive, slightly younger woman with long, curly red hair and piercing blue orbs, who, due to the maniacal gleam that lingered in them, chilled him to the bone. He'd only managed to make it about two thirds of the way into an upright position when the woman broke off from the rest of the group, advancing on him in almost a surprisingly mesmerizing fashion, especially since Shawn would have to guess that she was at least forty five years old.

_Though her outfit would certainly suggest midlife crisis,_ he mused idly, not entirely sure why, other than the need to try to take his mind off his churning stomach, his brain chose that exact moment to go off on a tangent about the designer clothing. And it was obvious that she had paid a small fortune for it, from the blue and black studded headband that was failing to keep her curls at bay, to the white silk blouse and black, skintight leather pants all the way down to her stilettos that matched her headband. In the end, it was the shoes that were his undoing, as he tried not to focus on the multitude of tiny blue and black crystals that studded the base as well as the heels of the satin pumps, because the light that was reflecting off them, though dim, was causing his already tender head to swim.

He somehow mustered the strength to stumble a few steps forward in a last ditch effort to avoid getting pinned between the determined woman, who was almost upon him, and the unforgiving wall behind him, managing to overset his precarious balance in the process. The momentum caused him to teeter dangerously forward, his head buzzing at the jarring movement as he put his hands on his knees to brace himself, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Not surprisingly, his stomach chose that moment to rebel, casting up the meager contents of his stomach for the second time in a little over an hour, right as the redhead reached him.

Breathing deeply as he tried to get his unruly body to cooperate, Shawn was vaguely aware that Potter was suddenly screaming obscenities at him about her designer shoes getting ruined as she swiftly brought her leather clad knee up and into his hunched over chest, knocking the wind out of him. Already unsteady on his feet, Shawn was unable to deal with this added complication and toppled to the right, landing hard on the cold concrete and rolling over slowly to rest on his back in a stunned daze. _Just gonna close my eyes for a second, _he thought hazily, instincts screaming at him that, if he went to sleep _**now**_, there was a good chance he wouldn't be waking up ever again. But, despite the knowledge that lying defenseless on the ground anywhere near the psychotic woman was bad enough, even without taking away his only functioning alert system, he just wasn't able to stop his eyes from sliding closed as the roaring in his ears continued to grow.

* * *

"_Dispatch, this is Car 7-0," Detective Lassiter barked into the radio as the Fusion sped through the slick streets, siren blaring, the older Chevy in the side view mirror able to match the police car's pace with ease._

"_Copy 7-0," came the calm female voice on the other end as she waited for the detective to continue. _

"_I need you to patch me through to Cottage Hospital's Emergency Department," Gus sat rooted to the passenger seat, listening to the head detective's radio conversation while they flew over the nearly deserted streets, gripping the door handle so hard his knuckles were white__**. **_**This is such a bad idea...**_he thought, trying not to think of all the ways travelling at excessive speeds on wet roads could end in disaster. _ **Mainly for me**, _he grumbled half-heartedly, unable to forget about his best friend in the older model sedan. His severely injured best friend, who's unconscious body had been pulled out of Mr. Spencer's mostly submerged Ford F250..._**And now Juliet is literally trying to drive up Lassiter's tailpipe to get him to the hospital faster**_, which the dark skinned man had to admit just couldn't be good..._

_Although he could hear the lanky man briefing the hospital on the state of the occupants in the Chevy, it wasn't until the Fusion flew past the Emergency entrance and the vehicle slowed down, killing its siren, that Gus shook himself out of his thoughts, not even bothering to wait for the car to come to a complete stop before he was out of the Fusion and sprinting toward the ER...only to fall to his knees on the wet pavement a few moments later when he spotted the sheet clad gurney being wheeled toward the entrance of the building. Vaguely he could hear someone screaming in the background and wanted to tell them to shut up, to tell them they didn't know the first thing about despair, pain, or suffering until they'd lost their oldest and dearest friend, until he realized the source of the noise was himself... _

Gus shot upright in bed, his arms flailing, knocking his cell phone off the bedside table with a clatter, and pressed his hand to his chest as his heart rate raced under his fingers. Only able to recall disjointed images of the dream that had effectively invaded his subconscious and robbed him of his restful sleep, the dark skinned man took a moment to calm his nerves before reaching over and retrieving his phone from where it had landed, immediately noting he had a new text. Opening the newest message, Gus frowned at the continued strange behavior of his best friend, cringing when the thought of Shawn brought snippets of the nightmare back into focus.

Shaking himself, he climbed out of bed, determined that there was only one person who might be able to shed some light on this whole mess. Gus rushed through the apartment and made a beeline for the front door, belatedly realizing he was still in his pajamas, but, not wanting to waste a single moment more, the pharmaceutical salesman threw on a long overcoat, hoping to be able to find who he was looking for without traipsing all over town wearing an outfit with fire trucks all over it.


	9. Nothing Else to Lose, Nothing Else to Fi

I know I harp on it, but still not mine, never will be mine…but maybe, just maybe if they were mine…I could figure out where in the world all my reviewers went, oh well...

* * *

Chapter 9: Nothing Else to Lose, Nothing Else to Find, Nothing in the World that can Change my Mind

_This psychic is a problem that is going to have to be dealt with soon, and swiftly, _Phoenix silently vowed as he watched his sister-in-law pace in and out of the room still screaming about her ruined shoes, and, in his opinion at least, her exorbitantly priced pedicure, even though she'd not only demanded that her assistant bring her a different pair of pumps to replace the ruined ones but had also scheduled an emergency appointment with her private pedicurist. _And I __**certainly**__ can't count on Pott's usually cutthroat judgment on this one either, _he admitted with a sigh, bringing himself back on topic, wondering what it was about the hazel eyed man that had compelled her to drag him halfway across the country, instead of just doing the smart thing and eliminating him like any other obstacle that had ever been unfortunate enough to get in her way.

Though he had the inkling that the injured man, who'd been unceremoniously hauled out of the room shortly after he'd fallen last night under Potter's orders, fascinated her, a seemingly impossible task, and that was the driving force behind her foolhardy choices lately. It was the only thing that could even remotely begin to explain why this Spencer guy was not only still alive but also still in possession of all his appendages more than 8 hours after destroying her favorite, not to mention most expensive, pair of Gian-whatcha-fuckin'-call-ems. Even though Potter talked incessantly about the extensive collection of pumps she had, Ellery neither knew nor cared about any women shoe designers, but he figured paying almost $3,500 for a pair of shoes that wasn't blanketed in diamonds and other precious jewels was highway robbery.

_And now they are an extremely expensive pair of garbage, _the dark haired man thought, shaking his head. _One thing's for certain, I refuse to let anything happen to the business because of her emotions..._He'd step in and remove the issue his way, damn the consequences, before he'd let the authorities swoop in and raid the lucrative empire like they'd been itching to do for the last several years._ And if they only had a clue as to a fraction of the things we do…._Phoenix thought, a satisfied smirk crossing his face, only to slide away as his train of thought continued. So far, anyone that had tried had never even come close, thanks in part to his extensive list of contacts in the police force, but he wasn't willing to take the chance that this guy, someone who could fool almost everyone into seeing exactly what they wanted to see, might just be the one to find a way to bring it all crumbling down. He sincerely hoped that his usually sensible sister-in-law would find her head when it came to the man, end it with a well-placed bullet and dump the body, as well as the evidence, in one of the several places they kept for just such purposes.

_I really hope Potts is not holding out hope that she'll ever get that coin back, _Phoenix thought with a grimace as the redhead reentered the room and bypassed him, knowing just how stubborn the woman could be when she put her mind to it, and that the Civil War half dollar had been her favorite of all the missing coins that they had spent considerable time, not to mention a small fortune, tracking down. _Because, as much of a blow as it was to lose the rare item, especially since the two of them had spent years, just over 6 to be precise, finding the perfect copies, and then another 6 from planning to execution to obtain the majority of them,_ _if it, or the painting it was concealed in, was truly gone, then that was that. _With a sigh, Phoenix recalled the day, so long ago, when his sister-in-law declared that she was going to be bringing in some very unique coins, 'by any means necessary.'

'_By any means necessary…' _Phoenix groused with a grimace, thinking the whole thing might be the understatement of the year. In the end there had been five coins selected by her, including a 1795 Draped Bust $10 Eagle gold coin, a 1847 D $5 Gold Coronet Liberty Head Half Eagle, a 1924 D $20 Saint Gaudens Double Eagle, a 1916 Standing Liberty Silver Quarter, and the 1861 O Benjamin F. Taylor Confederate Silver Half Dollar. And it soon became crystal clear just how dead set Potter was on obtaining a very specific copy of each coin for their collection, however, he'd just never particularly cared why the redhead did the things that she did. _Not when it benefitted both of us,_ he admitted with a sigh, knowing this time she'd way overstepped her bounds,_ But more often than not her ideas can backfire in the most appalling ways…_

Phoenix who, for one, had thought hiding the handful of rare coins in worthless paintings was a moronic idea from the very beginning, because what was the point of obtaining the currency if none of it was able to be admired, had repeatedly issued loud protests against the selected course of action, and wasn't the least bit surprised when the crate the five pieces were being stored in mistakenly got donated to one of the local auctioneer houses. And he was even less surprised to find out later that, after the different items had been inspected, and found to have no monetary value much to the redhead's displeasure since she had been the artist, the company sent them to an auction they directed at a nearby flea market. _That, more than anything, is what set my dear sister-in-law off,_ the green eyed man admitted with a snort, knowing just how vain she could be. _Stubborn, vain, and peculiar…three traits that should never be found together, __**ever, **_Phoenix gave himself a mental shake when he realized just how badly his train of thoughts had wandered, forcing himself back to the task at hand as the woman completed another lap.

Because, the entire sordid tale of what had become of the ugly canvases, including the information needed to locate the pieces in order to re-obtain them, as well as their hidden treasures, had been tracked down through countless hours of extensive searching, and all of the coins, except the final, and most valuable, one, were eventually re-acquired through either purchase, robbery, or physical persuasion. _Without anyone being the wiser..._the dark haired man admitted, knowing this had to be handled with the same discretion, and already coming up with ways to either convince her that his way was the smartest move, or distract Potter so he could get this thorn in his side out of the way as soon as he found out once and for all if the man knew what the painting contained..._Won't be too long now, _he thought with a cold smile as he narrowed down the list to the top three possibilities, starting with tracking down his sister-in-law to see if he could talk some sense into her.

* * *

"I'm truly sorry, Henry," Karen admitted, her voice filled with genuine regret, "_**But**_ you know just as well as I do that there's no law against a person not answering his phone, cell or not," holding up a hand when he made to interrupt and thinking, despite vehement denials by both sides, just how similar father and son truly were, she continued, "You did say that you, O'Hara and Mr. Guster all keep receiving texts from his iPhone, is that correct?"

"Yes, b-" he began in a rush, only to have the blonde cut in forcefully.

"Not buts, Henry, without probable cause, or _any _indication of foul play, for that matter, I'm afraid there's nothing _I _can do at this point." She insisted cryptically as she gave the liaison a searching look, knowing how hard of a time he'd had the last 21 days, but unable to give him any more information or reassurances at the current time. "If Shawn left on Friday, and it's only Monday but he's not back yet, you really need to consider the possibility that he just decided to take a few extra days off due to all the excitement from the last few weeks."

There was a long pause before the man responded. "Well, Karen, I know that you're going to classify this as a 'but,' though..." he admitted, holding up a hand much like the blonde had done moments before, "You should consider this: yes, while it is true that Juliet, Gus and I all agree that we've received text messages from Shawn's phone, there is just something off about them." In fact, Gus might have put it best when he tried to describe _what_ exactly was off about them earlier in the morning when he'd shown up unannounced on Henry's doorstep, still in his pajamas of all things. It was that fact, because the younger man was usually meticulous with his wardrobe, that really convinced the liaison that it was time to go to Karen, even without a shred of proof.

Sitting across from the Chief of Police, he recalled Gus's words,_'It lacked all nuance, Shawn's signature mocking tone, and was completely devoid of emoticons,' _which Henry was forced to agree with. _But how can I even hope to convince Karen? _"Quite possibly the single most inconsistency is this: while Shawn might choose not to answer, or return, a call from _me,_ neither Gus nor Juliet have talked to him since he's left-and I know for a fact Shawn promised Gus he would keep him updated. It all adds up to something big, and I think you know it."

The look on the police chief's face spoke volumes on just how close to home the liaison's last statement was, but it was her next words that caused him to pause, "That may be the case, but it doesn't change the facts, so please don't say anything about this to Detective O'Hara just yet." At the man's inquisitive eyebrow raise, she elaborated, "Until we have something concrete, I need her focused on current cases while Lassiter is gone."

Interest immediately piqued at the statement, because Henry hadn't heard of any functions that would lead to the head detective being away, he waited for Karen to explain for a few moments before getting clarification, "And where is he?"

"He decided to take a few days of vacation, Henry," she answered, her tone telling him in no uncertain terms to just leave the issue alone, all the while expecting either an argument or an outburst from the man.

"Really," the liaison remarked in a neutral voice, knowing full well that, if a man who had banked almost a full year's worth of vacation suddenly took time off, either Lassiter also suspected that something was going on and ventured out there to check it out or Karen had sent him out there because _she_ knew there was absolutely nothing she could officially do without any evidence. Mind immediately made up on the next step, Henry got to his feet with a small nod, "Thank you for at least hearing me out Karen, even if you don't believe me...I think it's time for me to get out of your hair," he announced, before walking back into the bullpen, resolving to get to the bottom of this mess, and leaving the chief staring at the closed door in a mixture of shock and confusion. _Things are __**never**__ going to end well when a Spencer actually __**does**__ what is expected of him, like a normal person would, _she predicted with a sigh.

* * *

"Are you certain there isn't anything else you can tell me?" Lassiter asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when the front desk clerk gave him a look that clearly suggested he thought the lanky man was a few rounds short of a full clip. _This would be __**so**__ much easier if I could actually be here in an official capacity, _he groused with a sigh because, though he'd eventually needed to flash his badge in order to get the shaggy haired man to answer any of his questions, having hit a brick wall otherwise, Lassiter knew he was in no position to officially start making demands of the college aged kid. Even knowing part of his frustration stemmed from the lack of real food or sleep, since he had tossed and turned in his unfamiliar hotel bed, in the last few days, Lassiter couldn't help the negative thought that invaded his mind. _Why in the name of Sweet Lady Justice did the chief insist that I come out here when there isn't a single thing I can do except __**hope**__ someone will talk to me?_

"Listen, man," the brown eyed man grumbled from behind the counter, "I already told you the dude matching that description came in pretty late in the day on Friday, musta been about 7," he continued with a thoughtful look, "I gave him the key, but, ya know, he was acting real weird..."

"What do you mean by weird?" Lassiter asked in interest, wondering if the clerk was possibly about to give him _**something **_that he could actually use. Because everything he'd learned so far, mainly that Spencer made it to the inn and checked in on Friday, wasn't the least bit helpful.

"I dunno," was the laid back response, complete with a carefree shrug, causing the head detective's patience to wear dangerously thin. "I guess he was actin' kinda goofy, like he was drunk, but he didn't really smell like he'd been drinkin'," he finished, recalling the moment that the hazel eyed man had leaned over the counter that afternoon four days ago. _Or more accurately __**into**__ the counter,_ the clerk thought, _Like it was keeping him upright…_

Lassiter blinked in surprise at this piece of information, knowing it might possibly be a viable clue if finding out if something sinister was going on, because while he was aware that Spencer was _**technically**_ an adult and did ingest alcohol occasionally, the head detective had never seen the consultant in an inebriated state. And, for some odd reason, the notion of the man deciding to get wasted while on a job for a client struck Lassiter as too absurd, even for Spencer's strange standards…No, for now at least, the lanky man had to assume this newest piece of information had to tie in with the bizarre texts, lack of telephone communication, and that blasted coin.

_Which is where it all seems to keep circling back to, _he thought in frustration, wishing for the thousandth time since he'd had the coin in his hand that he hadn't thrown it back in Spencer's face, because at least then he'd have the item in his possession instead of it being just about anywhere. Realizing that the young man was staring at him oddly, the head detective mentally shook himself before asking, "Goofy, as in he was making ridiculous, and completely random, movie references and flailing around," he asked, needing to be sure the man hadn't mistaken Spencer's usual behavior for drunken stupidity, _Wouldn't be the first time..._ "Or, goofy as in he was stumbling over himself as people who've had too much to drink are apt to do?"

"Neither," the clerk replied simply, "_Goofy_, like he'd either just woken up from or was about to fall into a deep sleep...or like he didn't even really know where he was, because when I asked for ID, he handed me his entire wallet, and then when I tried to give it, and the key, to him, he just leaned on the counter and kinda stared at me for a few moments before taking the items and heading unsteadily down the hallway, goofy," he finished, hoping that was the information this strange man was looking to find "You could ask some of the staff if they saw anything," he suggested after a minute.

"I just might," Lassiter murmured as he made a few notes to himself, "Has he checked out?" Figuring it would probably be way too much to hope that Spencer was still lounging in a room paid for by someone else. _But stranger things have happened,_ he admitted, sighing when the clerk spoke again.

"Yep, he has," the young man answered after referencing the inn's check out records. "Actually he left the following day, about six in the afternoon, when checkout time is really supposed to be three...but I wasn't on duty," he quickly said, correctly guessing the lanky man's next question.

"Well, _who_ was?" Lassiter demanded irritably, tapping his pen on the counter impatiently. If Spencer had checked out Saturday, and it was now late Monday, then why wasn't he back in Santa Barbara, being a general pain in the ass and making his annoyingly nuisance presence known? _Like dancing on my desk, draining all the ink in my pens, or building a gigantic pyramid with drinking straws?_

"Umm, I believe Jennifer was," the clerk responded after a few seconds, before continuing. "But it's her day off."

_Of __**course **__it is…_He thought irritably_, _however, any further questions the head detective had intended to ask were forgotten when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. With a small nod to the clerk, Lassiter pulled the electronic out, sighing when he recognized the number of the incoming call. He wasted no time answering it with a clipped, "Lassiter," only to have his frown deepen as the person on the other end continued to talk. When the narrative ended, the head detective nodded, even though it wouldn't be seen, and replied, "OK." inwardly cursing and wondering why he had foolishly thought this whole thing couldn't get any worse just a few short hours ago.

* * *

I would tell you what reviews were like...however, since lately I have been lucky to get at least one per chapter I have no idea what reviews are like, so I will say that reviews would be wonderful, if they actually were jotted down and submitted…It only takes a few seconds, but they are loved immensely.


	10. We Carry on Our Backs the Burden Time

Still not mine, still wish they were, oh well, ;P

* * *

Chapter 10: We Carry on Our Backs the Burden Time Always Reveals

"Gus, what are you doing here?" Juliet asked in surprise, spotting the pharmaceutical salesman studying the meager contents of the building's sole vending machine as she walked by to refresh her coffee, needing to take a brief step back from the newest case file on her desk.

"Hey, Juliet," he greeted, turning away from the snacks before replying, "I was looking for Mr. Spencer, because he was planning on talking to Chief Vick today, but it seems that he's left already," glancing around the bullpen, Gus shrugged, as if he wasn't too surprised by the turn of events, before asking, "Where's Lassiter?"

"He took a few days off to attend to some family matters, I guess," the junior detective replied, wondering why their conversation seemed so unnatural and stilted, _This is Shawn's __**best friend**__, and a very dear friend of mine as well, for crying out loud, _Juliet thought in frustration, knowing that, if she wanted to keep some semblance of sanity in her life, she needed to get _something _back on track. "Do you have a minute?"

Gus gave her a searching look before nodding, "Yeah, you alright, Juliet?"

Not wanting to worry him, but not ready to spill her guts in a place where potentially anyone could overhear them, especially after her conversation with Buzz yesterday, the blonde simply shrugged before motioning for Gus to follow her into the bowels of the station. Bypassing the interrogation rooms, she instead headed into the seldom used conference room at the end of the hallway, flipping on the lights and waiting for Gus to enter before shutting the door behind him.

"This must be serious," the dark skinned man remarked slowly once she had turned to face him, only having seen that expression on the detective's face one other time. "Does this have anything to do with Shawn's strange behavior?"

"Well," Juliet hedged, not entirely sure just where she should begin with all the odd events going on at the station. "I'm not really sure what, but I do know that _something _is definitely happening around here, and I am not the only one who's noticed it, so, yes, I _do _think Shawn is at the center of whatever it is."

Sighing, Gus replied, "Maybe you'd better start at the beginning," before settling into a seat at the long table, wondering just what Shawn's bizarre texts could possibly have to do with the Santa Barbara Police Department.

Following his lead, Juliet took the seat to Gus's left and briefly gave him a rundown on Carlton's strange behavior, including the mysterious internet coin search, his snapping at Buzz's curious question, and both meetings she'd witnessed with the chief. "And then when I tried to find out what he was up to, he got really defensive and changed the subject the first time," she elaborated, "but then the second time he rushed into an explanation about leaving town to take care of 'family matters.'" After a few moments the blonde continued, "The really weird thing is when I told him I hoped everything was going to be OK, I swear he muttered 'He'd better be,' under his breath as he went down the steps." Taking a moment to compose herself, she let Gus mull over the information in companionable silence before tackling the other subject that was worrying her. "So, you think Shawn's behavior is strange, too, Gus?"

"Yeah, though at first I just thought he was doing it all deliberately," Gus remarked quietly after a long moment, "I mean, Shawn is my best friend, and I know, maybe better than anyone, exactly how much of a kick he can get out of messing with people...Add to that the fact that I _did_ specifically ask him to keep me informed of anything while he was out in Ridgecrest," he shook his head for a second, missing the surprise that flashed across Juliet's face, "But now, especially after talking to first his father this morning, and now you, I _know_ something is wrong." He raised his troubled eyes to Juliet's as he continued, "I mean, I even texted him that I'd buy him pineapple pancakes every Saturday for the next month if he'd just came home, but I got nothing but another garbled text as a response."

The blonde weighed Gus's statement for a moment, knowing in her heart that the pharmaceutical salesman was right. Shawn wouldn't give up the opportunity to eat pineapple pancakes, but to ignore the offer to eat them for _free,_ without even having to con his best friend into it, was simply unimaginable. But quite a bit more troubling was the first part of the man's comment, mainly _that, with everything that had gone on lately, Shawn went out to Ridgecrest __**alone**__?_ Unable to keep quiet any longer, she asked the other man, "Weren't you two supposed to head out there together, Gus?"

"We were," he answered wearily, his tone immediately telling the detective that Gus had been thinking about nothing else, "_But_, I got called away to a makeup conference last minute, and, though I offered to meet Shawn out there, he insisted I shouldn't worry about it, and that he would update me on what he found." Rubbing a tired hand over his eyes, he went on guiltily, "But no one can get a hold of him, and both his father and I have gotten nothing but bizarre texts from Shawn's iPhone...and frankly, I am really starting to worry, Juliet."

He wasn't aware that the blonde had gotten out of her seat until he felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, and a softly spoken, "Me too, Gus, but we're going to figure this out, because I for one am not going to rest until I know exactly what happened...and I know neither you nor Shawn's father will either." All the while wondering just what her partner was doing in his absence from the police department, and if it was even remotely possible that it didn't have _something_ to do with this whole mess.

* * *

_That is __**soo**__ much better, _Potter purred from the back seat of the limo as she admired the end result of the still slightly tacky emergency pedicure in Fiji Weejee Fawn, a tame mauve that went with her Gianmarco Lorenzi classic gold sandals, still mourning the loss of her sparkly navy polish, aptly named Illamasqua Phallic though she admitted she had no idea _what_ the name actually meant, that had matched her now ruined shoes. _It certainly pays to have a private pedicurist on the payroll, but it's past time to get this show on the road and make that little shit pay, _the redhead decided, even the thought of now having to replace something so dear to her spurring her into action, though she wasn't sure if she was referring to the half dollar or her blue and black satin pumps. _But that means I'll have to face Phoenix..._which was something she had been avidly avoiding, already knowing the tactic her brother-in-law was likely to take to get rid of, what he considered at least, just another loose end.

_First he'll try to 'talk some sense into me,' _Potter grumbled, never quite understanding what was so deficient about the y chromosome that convinced a man that women were the weaker sex and needed to be 'led' through the more difficult decisions in life. _Then, when that __**brilliant**__ idea actually manages to fail,_ she thought with an eye roll,_ Ellery will try to pull rank on me and __**demand**__ that I do what he feels is right..._not even letting herself think about the crap her dear brother-in-law had decided on if his Plan B didn't work. Because if she had correctly guessed his third option, this might be one issue on which she and Phoenix could actually end up at each other's throats, and, as foreign as that concept was to the redhead, she wasn't about to back down from anyone, and that included Ellery.

And if she were as brutally honest with herself as she was with everyone else in her life, Potter had to admit she couldn't even pinpoint what it was about this Shawn Spencer that had stopped her from simply sending a sniper out to Santa Barbara to take care of him. Yes, he was still quite likely in possession of the extremely rare Civil War Confederate half dollar that rightfully belonged to her, even if she didn't acquire it through legal channels, but she had to acknowledge it was more so much more than that. Because as much of a hassle as it would inevitably end up being with the small fortune she would have to drop in order to track down an identical coin, in addition to the finances it would take to actually procure it, it wasn't impossible that Potter had the resources and the connections to obtain another one.

No, this was definitely about so much more than getting her property, or an equivalent item, back and, on a deeper level, she wanted to know exactly what made Spencer tick, how in the world it was that he managed to effortlessly presented such a seamless facade to the world, and how no one on her vast list of connections was able to dig up any dirt on the man, just an extremely impressive resume that contradicted his spotty employment record...Not to mention just how satisfying it was going to be when she felt at least a few key bones, along with that iron clad will she had glimpsed in his eyes, right before he'd ruined her shoes, break under her fingers, she mused as the vehicle pulled up to the warehouse.

She cast one more admiring glance at her polished toes as Franco opened her door, before getting out of the limo and striding up to, and then through, the open door, immediately spotting her brother-in-law in the brightly lit space. "You ready to talk about this idiocy yet?" He demanded irately, as she drew closer.

A single eyebrow raise was the only answer forthcoming as Potter removed her thigh length Marni black and gold metallic jacquard coat and passed it on to one of the men to her left. Turning back toward Phoenix she inquired, "And what _idiocy_ is that, dearling?"

"Well, that's a resounding no," he muttered sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, at least for the moment. "Will you at least get in there," Phoenix continued gesturing toward a smaller room off to the right, "And do whatever it is that was so important to bring this thing right into our backyard?"

"I will when I am good and ready, Phoenix," Potter replied shortly, checking her lipstick in her compact mirror, purposefully goading him out of sheer frustration, though she didn't honestly expect the green eyed man to stand up in response to her comeback.

"In that case, I'm outta here for a while, Potts," Phoenix commented with a mock salute, walking quickly back out the way she had just come in, wanting no part of any of this. Shrugging off her brother-in-law's actions, she turned back toward Jordy, who had followed her into the main room and Franco.

"Bring him in here," she ordered shortly, waiting as her two most trusted men went into the small room, returning a moment later with the hazel eyed man between them. When the two thugs had stopped about two feet in front of her, she noticed the man's eyes were discreetly darting around the space. His dismissal of her presence annoyed her in a way few other things could, and, snapping her fingers in front of Shawn's nose, she demanded, "Where _is_ it?"

"Well, there are a lot of 'its' that you could be referring to," he shot back, trying to buy some time while his mind sorted through the contents of the space in an effort to come up with a game plan.

Not at all pleased with his answer, Potter closed the distance and roughly grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back as she elaborated menacingly, "The _**painting**_..." astounded that her captive had the audacity to try to snow her. _Doesn't he realize just __**who's**__ in charge here? _She wondered, exerting more force and feeling a small measure of satisfaction when he unsuccessfully hid a wince at her actions.

"It's gone," Shawn answered simply after a moment, certain that admitting he had the coin stashed in a secure place wasn't going to help him in the least little bit. _As much as I would relish the look on the she-devil's face if I __**did **__tell her, after that short lived victory, t__hey'll just put all their effort into beating the location out of me before they kill me, and then I'll have put other people in danger, to boot…_the faux psychic admitted with a sigh, knowing he had to avoid that outcome at any cost, even if it meant the crazy woman in front of him caused permanent hair loss. _Which is seeming more and more likely, _Shawn admitted when the redhead yanked harder on his precious mane.

"What do you _mean_, 'It's _**gone**_?!" Potter demanded hotly, certain the hazel eyed man had to be lying to her, _Probably in an effort to keep the half dollar for himself, _she thought with a snarl, pulling a small, but wicked looking, switchblade out of her hip pocket, and somehow resisting the almost overwhelming urge to simply slit Shawn's throat and be done with it, one way or another. _Breathe, _her inner voice told her, _You still haven't gotten any information out of him…__**Then**__ there will be plenty of time for that…later. _

"Gone," Shawn repeated, shooting her a look that clearly indicated he thought she was slightly slow, causing Potter to shoot Jordy a look that had the large man twisting the consultant's left arm upward until he was afraid the bone was going to snap, biting his lower lip to keep from crying out. "It was destroyed in a car accident," he rushed out, desperate to give her a story that was close enough to the truth that it might stop the certain destruction of his arm. _Damn it, playing baseball is going to be impossible with a busted arm,_ Shawn griped, trying one last time, "The hulk ran my dad's truck off the road, and it ended up with a fist sized hole in it! I threw it away!"

Giving Jordy an almost imperceptible nod, she watched the captive man's eyes, convinced that if he'd had the painting, or any knowledge of the coin hidden within, he'd have been spilling his guts at the massive man's persuasion. "You're a bigger fool than I had originally thought," she spat with disgust, watching as he sagged when the pressure was removed from his arm, "That painting you threw away, which was done by _**me,**_" Potter added for good measure, "Housed an extremely rare coin that took _**ages **_to obtain…" She trailed off, waving the blade in front of his nose as she continued. "And, since you not only ended managed to be the moron that ended up with my property, but also made the monumental mistake of _throwing it __**away**_..." the redhead replied, letting go of the handful of hair she'd been gripping, spinning away from him before finishing, "I think I'll take the value out of _you..."_

"No need to be bitchy, can't we talk ab-" Shawn's immediate sarcastic retort was cut short as the livid woman in front of him turned back around and buried her fist into his gut with surprising force, the goons on either side of him the only things keeping him upright as all the air rushed out of his lungs. _Fuck, that woman can certainly pack a punch, who was her father, Rocky Marciano? _Though he knew the fact that he could still make references while his life literally hung in the balance would be causing his best friend to roll his eyes if he was here, Shawn was thanking his lucky stars on the overwhelming odds that Gus was safely out of the state when another thought stuck in his mind as he struggled to regain his breath, _Wonder what__ she's pissed about more: her precious shoes or the coin she thinks I threw away?_

Leaning in so the injured man could hear her without raising her voice, Potter took his chin in her hand, stroking it almost lovingly and tapping the blade on his lips as she promised, "If you speak to me like that again, I _**will**_ cut your tongue out."

_If hell really hath no fury like a woman scorned...then I am _**so**_ totally screwed, _Shawn admitted as the metal disappeared from his face, waiting for it to be embedded in his body, breathing a small sigh of relief when several more blows landed along his rib cage instead. Not bothering to try to keep himself upright as his legs suddenly gave out under him from lack of oxygen, Shawn's head rolled to the side as the grip on his arms tightened painfully. Something in the far corner immediately caught the man's gaze, sending his brain into overdrive about how he might be able to use it to his advantage, when, as quickly as the she devil had turned on him, she suddenly ceased her assault, barking to the two men, "Get him out of my sight," as they started to drag him toward the door. _It's now or never, I guess…_he admitted, certain the next time they 'met,' he wasn't likely to escape that deadly blade, formulating the most solid plan he could under the circumstances.

Even though he'd begun to regain his breath, Shawn feigned weakness as they got closer to the only available option that he could see. Knowing he was only going to get one shot at this, and that very shot wasn't likely to last longer than the split second of surprise he was hoping to have, Shawn waited until the two men were almost upon the lone fire extinguisher, that was not only expired but also improperly secured to the wall right next to the exposed electrical box, before making his move.

Lunging forward, he slipped out of the men's grip, grabbed the red metal canister and swung it around, connecting with Franco's chest, ignoring his aching left arm. The man's momentum sent him back into Jordy, knocking both men to the floor, as Shawn, hoping like hell he wasn't about to get electrocuted for his stupidity, heaved the extinguisher at the panel that was in sore need of an upgrade just as Potter reached for something, _Probably a gun_, he thought with a sigh, jumping as sparks exploded from behind him when the metal hit the electrical box, plunging the entire warehouse into darkness.

* * *

Hmmmm, Shawn's alone in the dark with a group of people who want to harm him, and at least one of them is armed…that can't be good… *goes back to finishing her sewing that has dominated her scant free time, whistling innocently. *


	11. Shadows Fade into the Light

Not mine…not even kinda sorta…sad, I know, but I'll survive. I wanted to make sure I got this chapter up today, and I am rapidly running out of energy to finish this…so here it is…and sleep deprivation royally sucks.

* * *

Chapter 11: Shadows Fade into the Light, before I Stumble out to the Night

"What happened?" Francine's soft voice floated out of the living room of their dark apartment.

"I think we blew a fuse," Buzz answered in confusion, wondering how their apartment complex never managed to upgrade to a circuit breaker when pretty much the rest of the world had already done so. Knowing there was a flashlight under the kitchen sink, but not completely sure he would be able to get there in the inky darkness that had blanketed the room without harming himself on the surrounding furniture, Buzz called out to his wife. "I'm going to head into the kitchen and get the flashlight, and you stay right where you are, Francie."

"Be careful, Buzzy," his wife answered, her tone carrying worry for his safety. _She's been like this ever since that night I found the Spencers in the ditch, _the tall man admitted, hating that his actions, no matter how well intentioned, had ended up upsetting the petite woman.

"I will," he answered, immediately having to stifle a groan when his shin connected with one of the couple's dining room chairs. Rubbing it absentmindedly, Buzz took a minute to orient himself as best he could before starting out once again, using the edge of the large table as a guide. Only a handful of mishaps later, he reached the kitchen door, hugging the wall until he made it to the cabinets and eventually the sink. Opening the door underneath, Buzz squinted and tried to make out anything remotely resembling the shape of the flashlight through the sea of cleaning products interspersed with household gadgets that had migrated there.

_Wow, we sure have acquired a lot of stuff, _he admitted giving up on finding the flashlight by sight and kneeling in front of the cabinet, feeling his way along. A couple of times Buzz thought he was victorious, only to pull out a can of air freshener or stain remover, but just when he was wondering if the tool wasn't even under the sink any longer, his fingers wrapped around the metal base. _Now let's just hope the batteries are still good, _Buzz thought, pushing up on the switch.

"That's much better," the tall man remarked softly once the beam came to life, getting to his feel and acknowledging that the pile under the sink actually looked even _worse_ in the light, before heading more quickly back toward the living room to check on Francine. Once he'd found her, still sitting on the couch with her crochet, he commented, "I need to go check the fuse box, but I probably won't be able to fix it until I go to the hardware store," hating the thought of leaving his wife sitting in an apartment with no power.

"Well then," she remarked glancing out the window at the setting sun, "You'd better look into that so we can run out and still have the power restored before nightfall."

Blinking in surprise, Buzz wondered how he'd missed that there was still a sliver of daylight coming into the room due to the open curtains, giving himself a mental shake as he headed toward the bedroom, where the box was located. Though the young officer knew he could call the management company and wait for them to fix the issue, Buzz was well aware of the glacial speed that they tended to investigate complaints from the tenants, so if he wanted power back on before he went to bed, it was up to him to take care of it. _At least there's one thing I know for sure that I can actually fix, _Buzz mused as he opened the fuse box, staring at the little glass tubes and almost immediately locating the one that was visibly cloudy. Unscrewing it from the box, be noted it was a 30 amp fuse, and sighed when he admitted they had been on his list of things to get this week, but he just hadn't found time.

_I was so concerned with everything strange going on at work the last couple of days, it totally slipped my mind, and now we have to head out to replace it in order to restore the power in our tiny apartment. _

* * *

Henry sighed heavily as he sat in his rental down the street from the Carriage Inn in Ridgecrest, heartily wishing that his new truck would come in so he could stop driving around in the red sedan he'd been so annoyingly shafted with. Putting down the binoculars that he'd grabbed on his quick side trip home, Henry resolutely pushed aside the recurring thought that his visit to Karen had only managed to plant firmly in his mind, because if Shawn _was_ simply taking a few days off and being a complete moron with the bizarre text messages, then the liaison just _might _kill him. Instead, he tried to focus on the more likely possibility, at least as far as he was concerned in his worried state, that his son had managed to grow up enough through his years back home that he wouldn't disregard the feelings of everyone that had spent so much time and effort to find him and bring him home.

_He even let half the police department know exactly where he was staying in this college town when he took on this job, _Henry admitted, still at a loss of why he had decided to jump into this case so quickly when it appeared to just be a man who just didn't want to have any contact with his family...Blinking when realization hit, the liaison wondered why had hadn't seen the similarities before. The slightly dysfunctional family and the loner who couldn't quite seem to have a civil conversation with his closest living relative, to the point of leaving town for an extended period of time, as well as Shawn's determination to find this guy, if he was still at this last known address, and let him know that his aunt was searching for him.

The sight of the man Henry was looking for exiting the Carriage Inn and getting into his car bolstered the elder Spencer's spirits and convinced him that something more than the obvious was indeed transpiring. Detective Lassiter simply sat in his vehicle for several minutes before pulling out his cell phone and making a call, causing the liaison to wish he'd learned to lip read sometime over the years. Not entirely certain what he would say when he finally made his presence known to the lanky man, who looked like he wasn't happy with either the conversation he was having or the results he'd received, Henry got out of the car and approached the other man chuckling silently when the passenger side door opened under his fingers. Climbing into the car, he shut the door and turned to face Lassiter, wondering what sort of welcome he would receive from the fellow department employee.

"Mhm, yeah, OK, goodbye," the head detective said irritably before ending the call and shooting the other man an annoyed look. "Henry..."

"Lassiter," Henry greeted simply from his seat, "You don't look very surprised to see me."

"Yeah, well," the lanky man admitted grumpily, "The chief gave me a head's up after your little chat and warned me I might be seeing you, but believe me," he added fiercely, "If I thought for one second that there was any way to keep you away from this, I would."

The older man wisely chose to let the comment slide, instead focusing on getting caught up on what the other man had learned, "So what have you found out?" Henry asked, his tone speaking volumes of just what he was planning to do if the detective didn't let him help on the search.

"He checked in late on Friday, according to the desk clerk, but was acting weird," Lassiter held up a hand when the liaison made to jump in with a question, "'Weird' as in he was kinda out of it and looked like he was about to fall into a deep sleep. And then I did manage to find another employee that saw him get out of a red Cadillac on Friday and she mentioned that Sp-Shawn was stumbling around." The lanky man glanced at his notes briefly before continuing, "Supposedly he checked out Saturday, but when I finally tracked down the woman who took care of it today, she described a much taller, skinnier, _redheaded_, man with glasses as the person who returned the key."

Mulling over the information for a moment, Henry paused before inquiring, "What about his iPhone, could we track the GPS on that to find him?"

"Actually, I just finished that, it comes up as 1140 College Heights Boulevard, right here in town..."

"Well, then," Henry remarked, buckling his seatbelt, "What are we waiting for?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes in frustration before starting the car, fastening his own seatbelt, and putting it in drive as he muttered under his breath, "Here we go again..."

* * *

_Breathe, _the faux psychic mentally chanted as he used the muttered threats coming from the two goons, as well as the screamed obscenities of their mistress, to try to pinpoint an approximate location as he silently made his way away from the three hostile people in the room, debating whether he should head toward the front door using the glimpse he had of the room as a guide, knowing that would be the first direction they would assume he'd go, or if he should venture over to the side door he'd noticed in the other corner of the building. Both options came with some pretty serious risks, and even Shawn wasn't idiotic enough to think he was ever going to even remotely get another shot at this if he made the wrong choice. _No pressure, _he griped internally, _If I screw this up, I'm just a dead man, that's all, _he admitted before resolutely pushing all the negative thoughts to the back of his mind and focusing on getting out of this in one piece.

Shuffling to the left, Shawn decided to take his chances with the smaller, more sheltered door because at least he might be able to keep the advantage of surprise on his side for a bit longer. He chose his steps carefully, recalling his father's voice..."_On the balls of your feet. Balls of your feet. And you take deliberate steps. You don't know where he is. He shouldn't get to know where you are. He's invisible, you're invisible. Now, you've leveled the playing field," _and if there was ever an instance where those words rang truer, Shawn certainly couldn't think of it right now.

However, he ran into a brick wall, or more accurately, one of the two massive thugs managed to run into him before he'd made it halfway across the room, the momentum sending both men crashing through a couple of flimsy tables someone had set up before they hit a more sturdy one that skidded to the far wall, pinning Shawn between the hard wooden surface and the furious man. _What is it with these people and their propensity to destroy furniture, _Shawn thought irately, refusing to admit just how much farther he now was from the exit, as he pushed upward into the immovable force that had him trapped. Thankful that at least he wasn't currently facing three against one odds, though if the sound of the redhead screaming was any indication it wouldn't be long before he was, he brought his knee up and his forehead forward to land with a satisfying, if incredibly painful, crack on the other man's nose, that was quickly drowned out by an enraged howl of agony next to his ear.

When the pressure lifted as suddenly as it had appeared, Shawn bolted toward the exit, no longer worried about being silent when the beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness as bright as daylight, knowing he was about to officially lose his advantage. Staying as low as possible, the faux psychic darted behind one of the few remaining pieces of furniture to keep himself as disguised as he could while slowly working his way forward. A decision he was extremely grateful for when the sound of a gunshot rang out in the space seconds later, the racket making him more concerned than he wanted to admit at just how nonchalant she was about making noise, and hoping like hell he wasn't about to find himself stranded in the wilderness again, not sure he could force himself to trek any significant distance this time around.

_Great, so the vindictive woman __**is**__ armed and had now decided it would be a grand idea to use me for target practice, _Shawn griped as another shot echoed in the empty building, _At least it doesn't seem like she actually __**knows**__ where I am...yet_. When the light moved away from him, Shawn picked up the first piece of debris his fingers touched and lobbed it in the opposite direction he was headed, waiting for the beam and the resulting gunshot before making a break for the last substantial cover between him and the exterior door, using the opportunity when the light swept past once again to study it.

The two downfalls to choosing the side door were immediately apparent in the alarm that would inevitably sound when he opened it, at least it would if it was functioning and not as decrepit as the rest of the building, and the fact that the door opened inward, something that was going to make his escape a thousand times more dangerous, though still far, far safer than waiting here to get spotted by the gun toting she devil, _Who still has more than enough bullets left to do significant damage…_he grumbled, trying to silently search the surrounding area for anything to throw, only to come up empty handed.

Shawn took a deep breath as he waited for the beam to sweep by one last time, cursing the fact that there wasn't anything he could use as a distraction, before sprinting for the exit once the light had reached the far corner of the room. The noise his movement made caused the light to zero in on him, the gun going off in rapid succession as he reached the door, yanking it open just as one of the bullets caught him along his left shoulder and threw him forward, the weight of his body pushing the door closed. Immediately shifting and pulling the heavy metal open again, Shawn marveled at the lack of an audible alarm until he realized why it wasn't necessary, just managing to slip out the door and through the space between the frame and the strategically placed dumpster into the icy night as both goons made it to the door. Shawn said a silent thank you to whomever let his escape be successful and _mostly_ painless, when the curses of both men, neither of which was remotely small enough to fit through the space to pursue him, reached his ears as he took in his surroundings.

_Big city, obviously_, the injured man admitted, noting the sheer amount of tall buildings as he kept moving, making a few random turns as he fought the urge to rub his arms against the frigid temperatures, _And definitely in the northern USA somewhere, _he idly thought with a sigh of relief when he glimpsed a street sign written in English, though he didn't immediately recognize the name. Stubbornly ignoring every pain signal that was trying to overload his sluggish brain, Shawn ran through the alley, his only goal to put as much distance as humanly possible between himself and his kidnappers, hoping he'd have time to figure everything else out later.

* * *

"You _**LOST **_him?!" Phoenix asked in a lowly pitched, deadly calm voice, "How exactly did you manage that?" not in the least bit worried at the scathing reply he received from the other end of the line. With a sigh, he immediately ended the call, got up from his private table at the Pink Monkey and headed into the bowels of the gentleman's club so he could make an extremely sensitive, not to mention private, phone call.

"Get Robby and a few other trusted guys together to discreetly take care of this problem," he uttered in frustration a few minutes later, calling himself every kind of idiot for not just shooting the man when he'd had the chance like his instincts had screamed at him to do. "I don't care how, just make him disappear, _permanently_...and don't fuck this up..."

* * *

Reviews are like sleep, hard to come by, and desperately craved…there REALLY need to be more hours in the day…


	12. Holding out but not Getting an Answer

Chapter 12: Holding out, but not Getting an Answer.

"I don't suppose it would be anything more than a waste of my breath to ask you to let me handle this, would it, Henry?" Lassiter grumbled as he pulled up in front of an average looking apartment building, putting the vehicle in park and turning to face the other man, who'd already opened his door to get out of the car. "Yeah, that's what I thought..." the head detective answered his own inquiry before shutting off the engine, grabbing his notebook as he unbuckled his seatbelt, and getting out of the vehicle. Henry, who had stormed up to the mailboxes on the outside of the building, was studying the names on each one as he waited for the lanky man to catch up to him, tapping his foot impatiently. _This is going to be a nightmare of epic proportions, _Lassiter admitted as he checked his notes for the apartment number that the cell phone company had identified as housing Shawn's iPhone. "Gregory Smith and Nathan Wesson," the head detective read aloud with a snort, wondering if it was even remotely possible that those were the occupants' real names, or if this was all some colossal prank that would end in him harming a certain flamboyantly annoying consultant.

"Well, Lassiter, any idea what apartment we are looking for?" Henry asked eyeing the five mailboxes for the building that matched the address. "Or do we simply start banging on doors?" However, before Lassiter could respond, the liaison caught sight of something over the lanky man's shoulder, causing him to spring into action and leaving the head detective standing there in confusion until he heard Henry's next outburst, "Hey, stop!"

Shaking his head, Lassiter turned on his heel and followed the older man's progress with his eyes as he hustled to catch the young man that Henry was rapidly gaining on. By the time the lanky man had reached the pair, right outside the kid's apartment where the liaison had him trapped against the wall, Lassiter could see what had caught the other man's attention down by the mailboxes, because clutched in the terrified young man's hand, was an instantly recognizable neon green iPhone case. "This your apartment?" the head detective asked the man shortly, glancing around as he waited for the man to nervously nod before continuing, "Let's talk about this inside..."

Twenty minutes later, after Shawn's phone had been securely bagged and the young man, Nate Wesson, was seated, the two men had more questions than ever before without the benefit of any real answers. So far, the frightened young man had told them a story about a little Italian lady who'd apparently approached him at the supermarket on late Friday with the phone and one hundred dollars in cash, asking him if he'd like to make some easy money. According to the woman, Nate had gone on to tell the skeptical pair, she claimed to be playing a prank to get back at her grandson who'd totaled her car and refused to pay her repair bills. When Lassiter asked him what he'd had to do to earn the money, the young man simply said he was supposed to send specific texts to several different phone numbers, and the woman even told him _when_ to send each one. After his narrative had finally wound down, the three men simply sat there in silence, weighing their options.

"It didn't even _**once**_ cross your mind that the person who paid you to do this might be breaking the law and that you could be charged as an accessory to a crime?!" Henry finally demanded incredulously, causing the young man's eyes to nearly bug out of his head and Lassiter to simply shake his head in exasperation, vowing that this would be the last time he would ever have to work with _this _Spencer to find his son, because if junior disappeared again, the lanky man was going to kill the pain in the ass himself. _At least I'll finally get to discharge my pistol, _he thought with a small smile, needing no reminders of exactly why he disliked working with either one of the Spencers.

"Naw...NO WAY man! I just wanted the hundred bucks," he whined pathetically, eyes darting from side to side in hopes that _one_ of the two men opposite him would stop looking at him like he was lower than the dirt on their shoes. _Might have better luck with the lanky one with the goofy looking ears, _he thought as he weighed his options, not liking the probability of any of them coming out even remotely OK, _Because the old guy looks like he wants nothin' more than to tear me limb from limb right now..._. and there was no doubt in Nate's mind that the man, despite his age, was _more_ than capable of doing just that, if not much, much more to him.

_And Dumbo Ears over there doesn't exactly look like he's going to jump in to stop him if Grampa does decide that I know something else and thinks he can beat it out of me,_ he thought nervously, wishing he'd just forgone the hundred bucks the little old lady had given to him along with the phone and the list of instructions, which she had ordered him to memorize and then destroy. _But I __**didn't**__, _Nate realized with a start, _Maybe giving them that list will be enough to get me outta this mess..._jumping off the couch and startling both Henry and Carlton, causing them to reach for their respective weapons as he hurried into his office. Rummaging hurriedly through the cluttered desk, the harried man knocked a multitude of items off the surface, sending them to the floor with a crash before locating the worn edge of the paper tucked under some textbooks. Yanking it free, he spun around to head back into the living room, only to fall backward against the wooden surface in shock as he spotted both men standing in the doorway, dual handguns trained on his position. "What the hell?!" Nate yelled at the sight of the weapons, holding out the worn paper like it was a snake he wanted as far away from himself as he could possibly get.

Henry was the first to react, re-holstering his pistol and snatching the paper out of the terrified man's hand before the college student could do more than stutter a few words of protest. As he read the instructions, careful to hold the worn paper by its edge, though whoever had planned this had done a remarkable job of covering their tracks so far, he felt his rage at the people who had taken his son return tenfold, face darkening to something resembling a deep purple by the time he had reached the end before silently handing it to Lassiter.

_Well, so much for the hope of any sort of harmless prank to explain away this entire mess, _Lassiter thought as he skimmed the paper, stomach sinking as he realized just how far behind the eight ball they really were.

* * *

_Can I possibly hope that no news __**is**__ good news in this instance? _Karen Vick thought tiredly as she sat on her comfortable couch, idly twirling her cell phone in her hands, _Or has Carlton failed to find out something more than that Mr. Spencer had checked in on Friday and out again on Saturday, _which was all the Chief of Police had gotten out of him in the two conversations she'd had with him since giving him a heads up on what she'd assumed Henry was planning to do. _Though, maybe there just isn't anything more to find, _Karen admitted, shaking herself mentally but unable to shake the train of thought. Because, even though her head detective hadn't called to complain about the elder Spencer showing up, she knew in her heart that, as seemingly unreasonable, gruff, and surly as he could be when it came to Shawn, the liaison wasn't going to let _**anything**_ keep him from finding his son if the consultant had indeed stumbled into trouble related to that coin Carlton was telling her about.

A random thought of just where that half dollar had ended up, or come from for that matter, had just popped into her head, when the sound of snapping fingers startled her out of her reverie. Glancing up, she saw her husband eyeing her with an extremely concerned expression. "You OK, hun? You were miles away just a second ago...In fact, I've been talking at you for the last ten minutes, but I seriously doubt you've heard a word that I said," he finished, watching as she shot a quick look at the antique clock on the mantle before blinking in surprise.

Karen knew she had begun tuning her husband out almost eight minutes ago, she confirmed with a tiny peek at the clock, realizing the last thing she remembered him saying was part of a funny story having to do with one of his co-workers. She assumed it would have been pretty hilarious, because the man her husband was talking about usually tended to do some pretty bizarre things. _Kinda like Shawn Spencer, _the blonde thought with a sigh, knowing a great deal of the stunts he pulled might actually make her laugh out loud if they weren't happening on _her_ watch.

The ringing of her cell phone once again pulled her out of her musing, causing her to answer without bothering to check the caller ID, simply hoping it was the person she'd been waiting to hear from. "What did you find out?" she asked without taking the time to say hello. Out of the corner of her eyes, Karen saw her husband quietly leave the room to get her some privacy, knowing just how anxiously she'd been awaiting this phone call, and certain it all had to do with her preoccupation, "Did you find Mr. Spencer?"

"Well, Henry found me," Carlton answered quietly, casing Karen's heart to sink ever before the head detective continued, "But, no, we didn't find Shawn, but we _did _find his iPhone...and a whole new list of unanswered questions."

Taking a moment to process what the lanky man had, and _hadn't_, told her, Karen demanded, "Explain, Carlton," immediately dreading where this conversation was going.

"OK, earlier today, I tracked down the phone's GPS to an apartment complex here in Ridgecrest," Karen heard sounds in the background, and could only assume Henry was attempting to jump in, "At the same time, Henry showed up, and we went to the location, where he spotted someone carrying the phone in the parking lot. Once Henry caught up to him and we reached the man's apartment, a Nate Wesson, he told us a pretty crazy story." The head detective paused for a few seconds in the middle of his narrative, having a muffled conversation with the liaison on the other end of the line, "The facts _do_ seem to back it up, though, so the short version is that an older lady gave Mr. Wesson the phone and $100 to send the specific texts to the different numbers at those exact times. The kid kept the paper with the list of Henry, Buzz, Gus, and Juliet's numbers as well as the different messages that were supposed to be sent and we now have that and the iPhone, but, Chief," Carlton admitted slowly, "It's not much to go on, and there's nothing more that can be done here..."

Karen knew he was right, as much as _she_ hated to admit it, "So you both should head back to Santa Barbara to we'll see what, if anything, we can get from those two items, and we'll be ready to act once we have _something_ we can use." Hanging up the phone, she tossed it on the coffee table, rolling her neck to try to work out the kink when comforting hands were suddenly on her tense muscles.

"I take it that wasn't good news?" he asked softly, having silently re-entered the room during the tail end of her conversation.

"Not by a long shot," Karen answered with a drawn out sigh, grateful that her husband was rubbing her neck, but feeling the headache she'd been battling for the last four days surge back with a vengeance as she tried to figure out what in the world she could possibly do with this latest information.

* * *

Potter somehow resisted the urge to scream at her driver in frustration as they pulled up in front of her penthouse apartment building, knowing it wasn't _his _fault that she'd managed to ruin her _second _favorite pair of shoes in that warehouse. _Guess Gianmarco Lorenzi's weren't made to go trekking over debris in the dark, _she thought irritably, looking at the heel that had broken off as she made a phone call to check in with Franco, certain he would be the less homicidal of the two men she had looking for that pain in the ass.

Five minutes, but absolutely _no_ answers, later the redhead couldn't believe one man, who wasn't even familiar with the area, had managed to evade Franco as she tossed the phone from hand to hand in thought. Making an instant decision she dialed another number and waited for Jordy to answer. "Meet back up with Franco, on S. Saginaw Avenue and help him find that shit...make his death brutal, slow and excruciatingly painful...oh, and take at least $6,000 worth of damage out of his ass first," she muttered, still mourning the loss of two pairs of absolutely gorgeous shoes, as well as their matching pedicures.

_Too bad I couldn't find a way to take the small fortune, not to mention the time and effort, it's gonna take to replace that coin out of his hide..._she thought bitterly, knowing from her extensive research that the man didn't have two nickels to rub together. "Call me when it's done, and, Jordy, I am counting on you to finish this..."


	13. It's a Long way Down when all the Knots

*points to the bottom of the page* I'm too lazy to do anything more this morning, but if people haven't figured out by now that the only things I own are my original characters, the plot, and every season of Psych, then I honestly am at a loss as of what to say…which is a rare feat indeed. So here's the next chapter, enjoy ;)

* * *

Chapter 13: It's a Long way down when all the Knots We've Tied have come Undone

Juliet pulled her green Volkswagen Beetle up in front of the Psych office, the blue Echo in the parking lot bolstering her spirits as she recalled the latter part of her and Gus's meeting in the conference room earlier that day. Glancing at the clock, the blonde sighed at how late it already was, but knew she simply had to focus her energy on finding out what had happened to her boyfriend, because she could no longer convince herself that everything was fine, a fact that had been hammered home when she'd walked into her apartment and seen the book he'd bought for her sitting on the coffee table, Snowy perched right beside it, making a rare appearance since Shawn had been staying with his father. The fact that her elusive white cat seemed to be just as worried about the hazel eyed man as she was, foregoing her usual spot in her cozy shrine of T Shirts to watch over the last thing the man had touched in the apartment struck a chord in the junior detective and made her extremely grateful that she and Gus had decided to start their own investigation.

Gus, though he'd been reluctant to act at first, agreed with Juliet that this was the best course of action when she finished telling him about Buzz's growing concerns during their conversation, and he'd tried unsuccessfully to reach Mr. Spencer either at home or on his cell phone, figuring if no one was going to let them in on what was happening, they needed to take matters into their own hands. Unbuckling her seatbelt, the blonde got out of the car and headed up to the door, noticing once she'd entered the building just how much life was missing from the room without her boyfriend there to make ridiculous jokes and banter with the dark skinned man, who glanced up at her approach. "Hey, Juliet," the pharmaceutical salesman greeted quietly before turning his focus back to whatever was on his computer screen.

"You find anything yet, Gus?" she asked, taking off her jacket and setting it on one of the chairs as she passed, eyes immediately drawn to the disassembled remains of the painting that had started this whole thing sitting on Shawn's desk. She detoured to the other side of the room, taking a moment to study the hideous thing and briefly wonder if taking it apart had helped her boyfriend figure out just what about it was worth even a fraction of the effort that Rye and Rind had expended. _Even from the back it's an eyesore,_ Juliet admitted, running a hand over the wooden frame, noting only one of the staples had been partially pried off, before getting back on track as she went to Gus's desk, looking over the man's shoulder at Shawn's cell phone records.

"Nothing more than the fact that there hasn't been a text sent from his iPhone in the last four hours, but that's not necessarily reason for alarm, " Gus admitted softly, scanning through just how many messages had been sent from his best friend's phone since he'd gone out to Ridgecrest. _Man, I have never been more grateful to have free incoming text messages, _he thought as he counted the number in multiples of five, _I just hope Mr. Spencer, Juliet, and Buzz are as lucky_, Gus mused as his tally reached over fifty five of them to the different numbers in less than twenty four hours, noting just how many more there were after he stopped keeping track.

_100 texts in just under a day, _Gus silently mused, doing the math in his head, _Which worked out to somewhere between four and five texts an hour, and each one was almost equally spaced out, being sent roughly every 15 minutes to the four different numbers...totaling a message to each phone roughly once in an hour to an hour and a half period, which simply wasn't Shawn like, _he wound down after a few it wasn't as though his best friend wasn't _capable_ of planning out such a bizarre scheme, because Gus knew Shawn could probably do it in his sleep, it was more the fact that the faux psychic would find the whole thing _too_ predictable and would want a challenge.

_He would never have left such an obvious pattern, preferring instead to bury the similarities so deeply that it would seem totally random, without actually being so. _Giving himself a mental shake, he realized that Juliet had been talking to him for the past few minutes without him absorbing any of it, rubbing a hand over his head as he forced himself to focus on what she was saying. "...That's a _lot_ of texts, Gus, how in the world does someone manage to send almost 500 messages in less than seventy two hours," She remarked, "But not be next to the phone to answer it when you call him right back?"

"Easy," Gus answered immediately, "He doesn't _want_ to answer," a concerned look crossing the man's face before he continued, "Though, that most definitely doesn't sound like Shawn..."

"My thoughts exactly," Juliet replied, glancing back over at her boyfriend's desk, pondering over everything they had, and more importantly _hadn't_, learned in their search, all the while trying to ignore the canvas that was taunting her from the flat surface.

Gus noticed the direction of her gaze, and, seeing the letter opener that had been abandoned on top of the frame, wondered aloud, "Hopefully Shawn left some clue as to what he might have found by taking that painting apart…" unconsciously mirroring Juliet's thoughts as they zeroed in on the object in question.

* * *

_Fuck, it's __**cold **__out here, _Shawn thought as he darted behind another dumpster, the sound of a vehicle approaching unnaturally loud in the frigid night, careful not to let his bare arms touch the icy metal this time. _One split second of contact was __**more**__ than enough to teach me just what a bad idea __**THAT **__was, _he admitted as he silently shifted in place. Though he wasn't certain the engine he was hearing was anything more dangerous than an average person heading home after a long day of work, the absolute silence in the part of town he seemed to have landed in had his instincts on high alert. To top it off, sometime in the last hour, a light snow had started to softly fall, which in any other instance the faux psychic would have found hauntingly beautiful, because though it was not yet sticking to the street, it had just started to create a fine layer of powdery white on the dumpster next to him and was clinging to his seemingly frozen eyelashes. _Which royally sucks when you're out in the elements without even a jacket to keep you warm,_ Shawn grumbled from behind the icy metal.

Though he stayed hidden as long as he dared to let the vehicle pass, but nowhere near as long as he would have liked, the freezing man knew he really had no choice but to keep moving, so he began once again zig zagging in and out of the different streets, still at a complete loss of what he was going to be able to do to get himself out of this situation, or even this neighborhood. _Wherever here even is…_ he thought as he glanced to the right around the corner of the next building, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps, but, due to lack of any sort of cover, Shawn knew he had no choice but to take his chances with whomever might be coming the opposite direction, and hope the men didn't choose to find exception with him.

_Please let __**something**__ finally go right for me,_ he fervently hoped, wondering if he should simply stay quietly where he was until the two men passed, because maybe they wouldn't see him hunched against the side of the building, may not even care if they did, or if he should keep trying to get his bearings and find somewhere warm where he could hopefully get out of the elements. _Though the likelihood of anywhere even letting me in the door without a penny in my pocket is highly unlikely_, Shawn admitted sadly, silently moving in place to retain as much body heat as he could under the circumstances. A loud exclamation a split second later caused his heart to sink as the footsteps suddenly broke into a run, causing Shawn to turn back the way he'd come and dart around the right side of the next building, his pursuers making no effort to be stealthy as they charged after him.

Making a quick left, the injured man hoped like hell he might still be wrong and that there was a chance, no matter how small, the running men behind him _weren't _chasing him, since he honestly didn't know how much longer he could keep up this pace in his condition, but that was immediately dashed when a dark figure appeared directly in his path. A man that he immediately recognized from earlier at the warehouse, Shawn admitted with a few muttered curses as he couldn't avoid plowing into the unexpected obstacle, because, though it wasn't either one of the thugs that been with Potter, he knew the person's presence could only spell disaster for him.

Literally running into Robby threw Shawn off balance and brought to light every ache and pain he'd spent the last hour desperately trying to forget, but did nothing to upset the larger man's balance. Grabbing the injured man by his sore, grazed shoulder as he attempted to escape, the muscular man swung him toward the nearest dumpster, ignoring Shawn's cry of pain from the rough handling as well as where the cold metal dug into his back. Telling himself he needed to ignore the wetness running down his back, and get up didn't do the least bit of good as the blue eyed man advanced purposefully on him, causing Shawn a split second of heart shattering agony as he thought of another, extremely dear, pair of the most perfect crystalline blue eyes that he might never have the chance to get lost in again, before forcing his batter body to move.

He'd barely made it to his hands and knees, however, when Robby came within striking distance, a pair of swift kicks to Shawn's abdomen sending the faux psychic back down on the icy pavement, struggling to find the strength, not to mention the breath, to try again. The choice was taken out of his hands when he was grabbed by both arms, yanked to his feet, and pushed against the dumpster, the icy metal shockingly cold against the right half of his back. _Wow, I must __**really**__ be out of it if I didn't even here the other two guys arrive, _Shawn thought sadly, knowing he'd just about run out of options, and not willing to give up, but honestly at a complete loss of what else he could do to save himself from this situation, especially when the man in front of him pulled an extremely lethal looking knife off of his belt. _That thing has to be at __**least**__ four inches long, _he mused morbidly, taking in the curved, serrated blade when the angry man flipped the black handle open, advancing on him once again. _And no convenient fire extinguishers to get me out of this jam,_ Shawn admitted as he desperately scanned the details, though it was completely unnecessary, hoping he'd missed something he could use to get out of this mess, and sorted through his choices one last time, coming up empty with the dumpster firmly at his back, the thug on either side of him holding him still, and the determined man with the wicked knife closing in on the trio.

In the end, his salvation came from the least likely source, but that was pretty much par for the course of Shawn's luck, as two black SUVs arrived almost simultaneously, one containing Phoenix's other man, and the other housing Franco and Jordy, who immediately jumped out and demanded they hand over the 'pain in the ass,' which caused a rather heated argument to develop when the three thugs adamantly refused to do so. Closing the knife with a snap, Robby barked, "Throw him in the SUV, we're leaving," as he watched the two men hustling a boneless Shawn toward the vehicle, only to have a physical confrontation suddenly break out when Franco and Jordy stepped into Robby's face, causing one of the thugs to drop their captive's arm and rush to help his colleague, neither set of men wanting to be the ones to tell their boss they failed. Which left only one man dragging him toward the waiting car after adjusting his grip on the injured man, but, though not nearly as rough as his counterpart on Shawn's left side had been, it took hardly any time to drag the injured man along and up to the vehicle, the thug climbing in and pulling him behind and onto the floor of the back seat.

Taking a signal from the two men on the street, the driver sped off before Franco and Jordy could change course and reach the SUV, driving for quite some time, while Shawn was tempted to literally kiss the carpet at the fact he was somehow still breathing after his close encounter, though he had to admit the floor certainly didn't make for a comfortable ride. Greedily enjoying the warmth after being out in the cold, it took Shawn a while to become aware of the hushed conversation between the driver and the man above him, trying to decide what they were supposed to do now. Though he still opted for being mailed back home to his father's house, for once the man resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comeback, vainly hoping they might forget about him if he just stayed still and quiet.

"Man, the dude certainly _looks_ dead..." the man above him remarked nervously, tapping Shawn's leg with his shoe. "Even if he ain't," the thug continued after a second, "It won't take long at all for him to freeze to death tonight, so let's just dump the body and get it over with…Then get the hell outta here because this part of town gives me the creeps."

Though Shawn couldn't make out the driver's reply, it was only a few seconds, and a couple of sharp turns, later that the door was thrown open and the man pulled him sharply to the right, toward the open air as he let gravity work its magic. Even though he vaguely saw the pavement rushing up to meet him out of the corner of his eye as the man succeeded in shoving him out of the moving vehicle, Shawn was physically unable to do anything to brace his fall, his shoulder and head ricocheting off the frozen surface and taking the brunt of the impact as he lost consciousness.

* * *

Reviews, long or short, regular or first timers, never fail to make my day, or night for that matter…and are more appreciated than you people will probably ever know Endless thanks to those of you that take the time to let me know what you think :D


	14. You see Caution lives far from my Mind

*sigh* they'll never be mine, guess I'll just have to be content with watching them on TV or DVD… :3

* * *

Chapter 14: You See Caution Lives far from My Mind

Buzz was sitting on the couch in the darkened living room, twirling his cell phone in his hands, and wondering just what it was that was keeping him from sleeping. If he had to wager a guess, the tall man figured it had something to do with the strange events at the station, though he was beginning to suspect it was so much _more_ than that. Because as much as Detective Lassiter's absence, Detective O'Hara's preoccupation, and Mr. Spencer's grumpiness when he was in the station, were weighing on his mind, it was Chief Vick's worry that was really bothering him. It had even gotten to the point that he'd actually taken the initiative to stop by her office to find what, if anything, he could do to help her earlier this week. _A fact I left out of my little chat with Detective O'Hara, per the chief's orders, _Buzz admitted a bit sadly, because keeping anything from the blonde detective made him feel extremely guilty, even though he agreed with his boss's reasoning for staying quiet.

As Chief Vick had pointed out the day he went in to see her and ask her if everything was alright, there really wasn't anything that could be done on a hunch, except keep his eyes open and be ready when there was some evidence to back it up. But the blonde had gone on to say how much initiative it must have taken him to bring this to her attention and how caring he was to make sure she was alright, both traits that made an excellent detective. Buzz had smiled at that comment, reminded of something so similar Shawn had said to him before this whole strange chain of events had started, _"Though, I have to say with solid deductive skills like that, you'll be a detective in no time, my man..." _At the time the young officer really hadn't believed his friend because this was Shawn, the carefree psychic consultant who would go out of his way to make someone's day better, but if the _Chief _felt the same way, maybe the hazel eyed man wasn't just being nice when he'd told him that. Come to think of it, the consultant had always been there to encourage him, and Buzz wished he could call the other man, no matter how late it might be, just to chat since hearing the man's voice never failed to cheer him up.

Looking through the phone that was still clutched in his hand, the tall man went through the text messages that he'd received most recently from Shawn, once again wondering exactly what it was about them that just didn't quite seem to ring true to him. Though nothing stuck out to him during the first few read throughs, the echo of the man's voice that day gave him the drive to keep going, because if Shawn really was in trouble, Buzz wanted to be there for him the same way the consultant always seemed to be.

He was still scrolling through them, getting closer to pinpointing what it was that had bothered him so much when the kitchen light came on a half hour later, bathing the tall man in the soft yellow light from the other room, his wife's concerned face appearing around the corner. "You OK, Buzzy?" she asked quietly, padding closer in her fuzzy robe and slippers.

"I'm alright, I just couldn't sleep," he responded at the same volume, hoping their voices didn't carry in the apartment next door as he watched his lovely wife make her way over to the couch and sit down next to him, glancing at the cell phone in question.

"What are you working on?" She inquired, knowing that something had been bothering her usually upbeat husband for the majority of the week, but so far he hadn't wanted to talk about it, and she hadn't pushed him.

"Just going through some text messages from Shawn," he replied with a thoughtful look on his face, "Only, I'm beginning to think they aren't really _from_ Shawn..."

Putting a comforting hand on his arm, Francie asked curiously, "What about them makes you think they aren't from him?"

"Well, they don't sound like the way he talks, because whenever he's texted me in the past, he's always asked how we are, how the house hunt is going, though I've never _told _him we've even started looking, and things like that. These," he continued gesturing to the recent messages, "Are nothing like that. It's almost as though someone has Shawn's iPhone and is sending these texts out...But that doesn't make any sense," Buzz finished quietly, not sure if he had any more information he had started with almost two hours ago.

"Come to bed, Buzzy," she said softly, "You'll figure this out, and Shawn would be the first person to tell you to have faith in yourself if he was here right now," taking her husband by the hand and leading him to the back of the apartment, knowing he'd need his sleep to be at his best tomorrow. Buzz went willingly, Shawn's words still running through his head as he shut off the kitchen light, making him hope he would be able to live up to the conviction in the other man's voice, because more than almost anything he didn't want to let the hazel eyed man down.

* * *

"You sure we should be out here, Man?" Marcus Hayes Parker asked his friend, Tommy Birchard, known almost exclusively on the streets as TBone, for the umpteenth time since he'd snuck out of the apartment and agreed to meet him on the Southside of Chicago over an hour ago. Though it didn't usually bother him to defy his brother, Charlie, there was just something in his gut telling him this was the _wrong_ night to be weaving in and out of the shady streets looking for pockets to pick or people to hustle...And that the feeling had nothing to do with the light flurries that were steadily floating down on their heads in the frigid night air.

"You scared, Bro?" The beefy teen responded tauntingly, shaking his head at his friend's weird attitude. More and more often Marcus had been having second thoughts whenever Tommy wanted to head out and find, or quite often manufacture, some fun, and the leaner man was starting to become a real drag. He figured he had Chaz, as Marcus referred to his brother, to blame for this recent turn of events, but the thirty five year old bartender, who was built like a linebacker, frankly scared the ever loving shit outta him, which wasn't easy considering Tommy had grown up on these streets from a young age. _But man, looking like that, along with some of those connections the guys talk about him havin', you'd hafta be a total half-wit __**not**__ to at least be wary of the man..._

The sound of an engine accelerating piqued both of their interests, causing them to head down a dark alley in order to check the noise out. _Maybe this all has to do with that feelin' I haven't been able to shake,_ Marcus mused wearily, creeping forward despite his better judgment, TBone right beside him as they found the source of the sound when, tires squealing, a black SUV flew around the corner three blocks down, the back passenger side door being thrown open and something large being shoved out. The teens exchanged a look, before slowly drawing closer to the discarded object, which had hit the pavement near the dumpster at the far end of the alley and stayed there, unmoving.

"Pshhh, it's probably just an old rug," TBone remarked dismissively as he squinted down the dimly lit alley, ready to turn back the way they came when Marcus's next words stopped him cold.

"I don't think so, TBone," was the other man's shaky reply, swallowing nervously before continuing, "It's not the right shape because a rug would be round and even, not lumpy...but it _does _kinda look like a _**body**_..." he admitted, voice shaking. Carefully inching forward under the broken street lights, the teen didn't know _why_ he had such a compulsion to find out if his hunch was right, and had _no _clue what the hell he was going to do if there really _**was**_ a dead person up ahead, but, for some strange reason, was unable to resist the pull that was screaming at him to investigate.

"Holy hell, I bet it _**is**_ a body!" TBone exclaimed in hushed tones as he rushed ahead, the mention of a possible dead person enough to spur him into action. Despite all his bravado and having lived on his own most of his life, the muscular teen had never seen an actual corpse up close, so he was torn between keeping his distance because of the creepy factor and getting as detailed a view as possible to brag to the guys about later. Ten steps later, the creepiness factor won out when he drew near enough to realize Marcus was most definitely right. _But hell, it sure don't look like he's from the south side, _he realized immediately by noting nothing but the color of the man's skin. "There's a dead _white_ dude down there!" Tommy exclaimed in a hushed whisper, surprise filling his words as he stopped in his tracks.

"Crap," Marcus said softly from next to him as he also made the connection. _Don't suppose I really have a choice, _he thought morosely. As much as he wanted to do nothing more than to stay as far away from the downed man as humanly possible, he knew, from his brother being a retired army medic, that if there was any aid that could be rendered, the sooner it was done the more likely the person might actually survive. _And though I don't have training of any sort, the only way to know if any medical aid is needed is to get close enough to at least try to find a pulse...But TBone's not gonna like this, _he thought, casting a sidelong glance at his friend, taking a moment to figure out the best way to phrase his next question. "So, we just gonna stare at him, or are we gonna go in for a closer look?"

"Well, he sure as hell ain't from _**this**_ neighborhood," TBone declared, taking in the man's clothing that though, tattered to the point of having several large holes and caked with a combination of dirt and blood, were of higher quality than one tended to see people who lived on the south side wearing, absolutely wrong for this time of year, and none of that accounted for the fact that a _white_ man was sprawled out in one of the worst parts of the city. "So he might have something of value on him," he continued hesitantly, unwilling to let Marcus show him up. _If __**he**__ can go in there, then so can I..._ Neither man bothered to waste the effort wondering why the black SUV had dumped the man before speeding away, because it was obvious they were trying to dispose of any evidence, so the two teens wandered closer to see what they could find.

Something about the still form seemed familiar to Marcus, but he shook off the feeling because, like TBone had mentioned, the injured, and quite possibly dead, man wasn't from around here, so the very idea he would have the faintest clue who it could be was ludicrous, to say the least. _Unless he's some sort of sports star or celebrity, _the young man thought with a snort, _And all the bad karma finally came back to bite him in the ass..._He held onto that thought, snickering slightly, until they came close enough that Marcus was able to clearly _see_ the man's profile, doing a double take when he immediately placed what had caught his attention from a distance. All the dirt, bruises, and dried blood covering it weren't enough to disguise the face of a man he saw each and every day at his brother's bar, in an old, faded photograph he kept in the back room, and even the passage of fifteen years hadn't made the injured man unidentifiable.

"DUDE, I _**KNOW**_ this guy!" Marcus insisted to his friend as they stopped next to prone form, nudging the body with his sneaker clad foot. _Man, Chaz is gonna have a shit fit if the dude's dead..._he bemoaned, jumping slightly when the still man actually groaned and shifted slightly at the contact.

"What the hell you talkin' 'bout, Bro?" TBone demanded hotly, momentarily forgetting about the freezing man on the pavement as he ripped into his friend, "If you wanna wimp out just say so, but don't go makin' up redickerous notions to get outta doin' this."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Marcus wondered, and not for the first time, just why in the hell he hung out with the more muscular man, _He's definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic, _he thought before explaining, "In case you don't recall, I didn't wanna do this in the _first_ place, _**but**_, I'm serious," he insisted when it looked like the other man was going to argue with him. "My brother, Chaz," the teen stressed as he continued, knowing his brother's name would get Tommy to listen like nothing else might, "Has a picture of this guy in the bar, and he'll kill _both_ of us if I let anything happens to him," quickly gesturing to the man on the frozen street. Then, without bothering to wait to see if the other teen would either object further or bail on him, knowing neither possibility really mattered, Marcus pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial, glancing down as he waited for his brother to answer, shifting his weight from foot to foot. _Please, please, please be by your phone,_ he silently beseeched,as he heard TBone beat a hasty retreat, _Because I have no __**freakin' **__clue what to do in the very likely possibility that someone hostile happens by before you can help me out of this situation..._

* * *

Reviews, where have you gone? Looks to the left, the right and back again...nope.


	15. Hiding Behind Skin that's Too Tough

_Well…they aren't mine, which is more obvious than ever, because I would never have ended it at all…_

_On a different note, sending lots of warm thoughts to my fellow psych writer, Tealcisthebomb, and seriously people you need to check out her stuff if you haven't already, because it will blow you away-if you read the HtTYD fandom then Itban Fuyu or Dukefan01 are awesome as well :D And please be forewarned that I probably missed several errors in this chapter, but I am simply too tired to care…_

* * *

Chapter 15: Hiding behind Skin that's too Tough

Henry hit the play button on his answering machine, running a tired hand over his head and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tossed his ball cap onto the coat rack and tried to listen to the messages that had come in since he'd left town earlier in the day, surprised that it had been fewer than 12 hours that he'd been gone, but yet so much had happened in that short time frame. Sticking his hand in his jacket pocket, which he still hadn't bothered to take off once he'd gotten home despite walking past the rack three times, Henry was momentarily shocked to feel his hand touch something hard and small, the plastic crinkling when he pulled it out and realized it was his son's iPhone.

For a few moments he simply tried to figure out what exactly it was doing in his pocket instead of with Lassiter and the list he'd also confiscated from Nate Wesson, but coming up empty, he just gave in and stared at Shawn's phone for several minutes. Seeing the bright green custom case, even covered in the heavy plastic, brought to mind the Christmas four years ago when he'd been so certain that he had bested Shawn with the iPhone, only to have him match Henry's gift box for box before pulling out the case and putting it on the electronic as he waltzed off.

Even as much of a handful as his son could be, especially when it came to competing in the annual Spencer Christmas tradition, or really any competition that could actually _keep_ the kid's attention, and there weren't many, that particular memory brought a pang that was a mixture of sadness and worry over the fate of Shawn. Because no matter how unlikely it was that father and son would ever see eye to eye on just about _anything,_ and they'd had their fair share of disagreements in the past, Henry wanted Shawn to know that, no matter what, he was going to be there for him, even if he didn't understand what sometimes made the consultant tick. And even though Shawn had walked off with a new iPhone as well as a matching case, only to leave the older man in wonder when he'd gone back into his kitchen and found the note detailing where his _real _present was, the whole thing _still_ made Henry wonder just how he'd found out about the present _this_ time.

Through it all, he had to be the first person to admit he hadn't exactly made it easy for the two of them to talk about certain things over the years, but he'd tried to raise his son the best he could, and certain habits were hard to break whether the person one was talking to was eleven or thirty five, because he would, first and foremost, always be his little boy. Blinking, Henry realized his answering machine had stopped playing, and, that during his crazy and sporadic train of thought, he hadn't caught any of the new messages that he'd intended to listen to. Just when he was heading back to the machine to replay the new messages he'd missed, Henry heard a car pull into one of the driveways in the neighborhood, followed by a door shutting as the driver got out of the vehicle. Reluctantly, he set the iPhone on the table, hesitant to lose the only physical connection he currently had to his son, as the liaison caught the sound of someone rapping on the front door, rubbing his neck in exhaustion as he went to see who could possibly be on his doorstep at this time of night, knowing if it was that crazy nurse he was probably going to have to move out of the country and change his name to get her to leave him alone...

* * *

Lassiter let himself into his home, sorting through the stack of mail that had piled up while he was gone as he kicked the door shut before tossing the lot of it into the trash can, grumbling about the waste of the United States Postal Service, when he was honestly just exhausted about the lack of answers his trip to Ridgecrest had really provided. _In fact, I have ten times more questions now than I did when I left the station, _he admitted gruffly, pulling out the paper he'd bagged at the apartment complex and reaching into his briefcase for the iPhone to go with it, only to come up empty. Frowning in confusion, the head detective emptied the contents of the case onto the kitchen table and sorted through each one, though he knew full well just what an iPhone looked like, even without the distinct plastic bag or the obnoxious green case. Next, he checked his pockets, though he didn't recall putting the phone in any of them before leaving the college kid's apartment.

When that search failed to produce a phone, Lassiter knew he was going to have to retrace his steps and head out to the car to check to see if he'd left it out there somewhere. Ten minutes later, the lanky man was glad he hadn't removed his coat before performing his task, since it was a tad bit chilly outside, and he'd somehow managed to lock not only both sets of keys in his dwelling, but also his cellphone as well. Doing a quick visual sweep of the interior of the car, Lassiter wasn't able to _see _the phone anywhere, and he knew the new condo super wasn't currently in the building, so he reluctantly admitted there was really only one thing he could do, thankful that he didn't have to walk _too _far at this time of night.

_Especially with as exhausted as I am tonight, _he grumbled, wondering why he seemed to always get the small end of the wishbone as he quickly trekked toward his destination, letting his mind replay some of the events of the last few days, hoping something might stick out at him if he looked at it from a slightly different angle. The farther the head detective walked, the more the wind seemed to pick up, causing him to stick his hands in his jacket pockets as he focused on the rare coin Spencer had showed him almost a week ago. Or more importantly, he tried to figure out where that coin might be now, hoping it hadn't disappeared right along with the annoying consultant, and the man's cell phone, apparently.

Stifling a yawn, Lassiter made a quick left at the crosswalk, heading to the other side of the street for the last stretch of the walk, not entirely sure what he was going to do if the person he was looking for wasn't home, _Or he refuses to let me in, _the lanky man thought, knowing it was a distinct possibility with how often they butted heads. Once he reached the beach, the head detective found his second wind, picking up his pace just as a car passed him and pulled into one of the driveways slightly up the road. Seeing the red sedan in the drive, he bounded up the stairs and across the porch, rapping loudly on the door and waiting for the man to answer, wondering just how he was going to go about explaining this if the liaison demanded one, when the door swung open.

* * *

Charles Truman Parker, better known to most of the neighborhood as 'Charlie the bartender,' absentmindedly rubbed a soft cloth over the bar in front of him as he thought about his brother, Marcus. _I just don't know how to get through to Markie, _he admitted, one of the few times in his thirty five years that he honestly didn't know what the best course of action would be. _Or at least what I __**thought**__ the best course of action would be in the circumstances,_ he admitted, thinking back to his own misguided youth and some of the horrible decisions he'd made. Grimacing, he noted the similarities because, ever since leaving the army and coming home almost six years ago, Charlie had watched his almost twenty year old sibling make one bad decision after another, each one more dangerous than the last. He longed to have his granddaddy still on this Earth so he could ask him what _he _would do in this situation, but the muscular man could already hear his elder's words as clearly as if he were right beside him. _Oh, Chucky, ya simply do what ya can for him with what ya got, and let that good Lord work out the rest..._

"You plannin' on rubbin' your way clear through that counter, man? Because you've been cleanin' that same spot for the last five minutes," the voice of Jake Patino, the bar's bouncer and one of his late father's oldest friends, kindly cut through the younger man's musing, immediately recognizing the preoccupation on the bartender's face and correctly guessing the reason for it. "Just what has our lil' Markie done _this_ time?"

"He's out with that _TBone_ again, doin' god knows what," Charlie admitted reluctantly, tossing down the rag in frustration, extremely upset that his brother snuck out to meet that hooligan again. "I just can't get through to him, Jake, and I've tried everything I can think of..." not missing the raising of the thick, snowy white eyebrow he continued, "Yeah, I now know how Granddaddy must have felt when I was Markie's age, but at least I was fortunate enough to reach a crossroads in my life and grab the second chance I was offered." Letting out a heavy sigh Charlie muttered, "Even if it did have to slam into me smack dab in the middle of the eyes," as he rubbed a hand over his face, "I'm scared, Jake. What if my brother never gets that chance to turn his life around?"

The older man could only shake his head, a muttered, "I don't know what to tell ya, Chuck, but I do know both your father and grandfather would simply say that sometimes, when it seems you're at the end of your rope, you gotta let the good lord work things out so ya don't hang yerself," the only response forthcoming.

Trying, and failing, to not vent his frustration on the fit, but fairly older, man in front of him, Charlie sarcastically quipped, "So, you want me to hang everything on the hope that we have another chance encounter with a complete stranger who gives enough of a _damn _to give Markie a reality check?" he demanded, turning toward the back of the bar as he met the other man's eyes in the mirror, continuing more softly and retrieving his faded cloth, "He's only a few steps away from either getting arrested or killed, Jake," Charlie admitted softly, the distinct edge to his voice revealing just how helpless the bartender felt as he purged his soul, "How am I supposed to just sit back and _let_ that happen?" Despite the heart wrenching plea, an apologetic shrug was the older man's only answer before he spun around and walked into the backroom of the bar.

_At this point it's going to take a miracle for us to get through this in one piece, _Charlie thought, trying not to think of all the near run ins Markie had had in the last few months, and in that moment, he briefly wished for just that: a miracle. Someone who could make a positive, and immediate, impact on his younger brother and show him a turning point in order to keep him from venturing down the road to prison, or worse..._Someone like Spencer,_ the bartender reflected as he went back to wiping down the counter, recalling the odd young man who had done all that and more for him, in one brief meeting, almost a decade and a half ago. _I wonder what ever happened to that guy,_ he mused, thinking about the vibrant teen that had been criss crossing the country on his motorcycle,_ And if he ever found what he was so desperately searching for in his own life…Like he managed to show me in my own, _The ringing of Charlie's cell phone cut into his thoughts, his stomach dropping as he recognized the number of the incoming call, hoping this wasn't the life shattering news he'd been dreading for the last six years. Flipping open the phone, he put it to his ear, barking a clipped, "What?!" only to have his mouth fall open before he muttered a rushed, "I'll be there in five," less than a minute later, immediately snapping the electronic closed, sending the rag flying, and yelling Jake's name as he bolted toward the door, sending up a silent prayer to whomever was up there and hoping that, for once, they were actually listening.


	16. And We're Constantly Reminded of a Past

Will they ever be mine? Not likely, and I can only continue to dally with them in my imagination

* * *

Chapter 16: And We're Constantly Reminded of a Past that never Bloomed

_So __**this **__is what a miracle looks like, _fifty three year old Jacob Patino mused sarcastically as he held open the alley door behind the bar so that Charlie and an extremely shaken Marcus could carry the unconscious man into the building. A closer glance at the younger of the two men caused the bouncer to raise an eyebrow, having never seen the teen's seemingly unflappable confidence waver before, let alone completely collapse. As they passed through the doorway, Jake noticed the men decided not to try to cart Shawn's dead weight up the steep stairs in order to get to the majority of the bedrooms, and watched as Charlie instead headed for the far room on the ground floor, which had become his grandfather's room once his health had deteriorated to the point that he could no longer traverse the stairs on a daily basis.

Shaking his head, Jake quietly closed the back door, still doubtful of the injured man's so called skills despite the high praise Charlie and Marcus's grandfather, Calvin Ford Parker, had continually given the odd young man over the last years of his life. _And that in and of itself is a feat, indeed..._the muscular man silently admitted, the thought of his friend's father, who had become closer than his own absent family over the years, sending a pang through his heart. Calvin had been a man who didn't readily hand out compliments, felt that respect was earned instead of given, and always reserved judgment until he knew someone well enough to make an educated opinion.

_But even though he had only met that Spencer kid once, he would randomly thank the lord above that he had showed up in Charlie's life just when he'd needed a kick in the pants the most to change his future, all without anyone telling him what was going on…_the white haired man thought with a sad smile. The older man had always believed it was meant to be that the pieces had fallen into place so smoothly, and glancing in the direction the two dark skinned men had transported the filthy and injured man, Jake couldn't help but wonder if Calvin wasn't onto something, because the same man literally being dropped into their lives once again when he was needed most was nothing short of astounding. _Just as long as he doesn't bring trouble with him, _the white haired man silently mused, because Charlie already had his hands full in that department.

After making sure both the back and main door of the bar were securely closed and dead bolted, and taking a moment to glance through the blinds on the front window for any suspicious activity outside, the white haired man ventured down the hall to where the two brothers were trying to get their unexpected 'houseguest' settled in comfortably, Charlie hardly needing to prompt his brother to assist him for once. Jake watched from just beyond the doorframe as the former army medic, after pulling the covers almost completely off of the bed at some previous time, leaned over his patient. Situated face down on a couple of old towels, the consultant's jeans and shoes had been removed and set on the far side of the room and the torn shirt had been cut off, exposing several scrapes and bruises as well as a nasty looking jagged gash on his upper right back, just below his shoulder blade.

"OK, Marcus," Charlie said as he applied pressure with a gauze pad to the worst of the visible cuts on Shawn's back to stop the bleeding that removing the man's shirt had reopened, "I need to know what exactly happened tonight," no longer able to settle for his brother's panicked exclamation of '_Chaz, you need to get down to the corner of South Muskegon Avenue and East 86th Streets, it's life or death,'_ as an explanation. And once he'd pulled up to the area Markie had indicated, after breaking several traffic laws en route, one glimpse of the man on the pavement was enough to send the thirty five year old into motion without question, knowing they needed to get out of that part of town as soon as humanly possible. But now that they were securely back home, he _was _going to get to the bottom of just what his brother knew about this whole thing.

"Well, TBone called and asked me to meet him down on South Manistee Avenue," the teen started hesitantly, wincing a little at the look Chaz shot him about _that_ statement, "And when we got down there we went to investigate the sound of squealing tires a few blocks down," Marcus continued as he watched his brother, apparently satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, toss the gauze in a nearby trash and open a bottle of hydrogen peroxide as he focused on cleaning out the gash, "When we were about two blocks away, we saw an SUV speed around the corner, the back door opened and something was thrown out into the street." Though the older man was silent as he disinfected the other cuts on the unconscious man's back, Marcus watched the emotions play across his face, knowing just how moronic it had been to go into that part of town, let alone rushing toward a suspicious noise without a second thought. "I know it was beyond stupid, and TBone was sure it was just an old rug someone had dumped...but there was just _something _about that object that looked like a person, and I just couldn't get what you've always told me about rendering medical aid outta my head, so I got closer," he finished quietly, no longer able to look his brother in the face.

"And then?" Charlie asked as he applied some antibiotic ointment to the worst gash and covered it with some more gauze, not about to let his brother off the hook, no matter how surprised he'd been by Markie's comment about medical aid.

"We got closer, and TBone exclaimed that it was a body, so I tried to see if the person was still alive, but I kept thinking that there was something familiar about the form on the ground. And even though I kept telling myself that there was _no _way I knew the person, that it was just a trick of the light that made him that way, when I got close enough to see his profile..."Marcus trailed off for a moment as he glance up and saw his brother examine something on Shawn's scraped shoulder before going on, "I realized I knew exactly who he was, and after checking to make sure he was still alive, I called you," and finally winding down to a stop.

Charlie, who had been disinfecting the shallow, but to his trained eye very obvious, bullet graze on Shawn's left shoulder amid the road rash, glanced up at his shaken brother, nodding silently before asking, "OK, Markie, can you come over here for a moment? I just need to clean the scrape on his face and bandage that, as well as his shoulder, and then we'll get him situated under the covers." Five minutes later, the brothers had just finished carefully wrapping the man's shoulder, tucking it under his right armpit to help keep the bandage on his back in place, Charlie grabbed a clean pair of socks and used them to cover his feet before gently rolling him onto his right side, placing a couple of pillows in front of him and pulling up the covers, knowing there wasn't anything else that could be done for the moment.

He exchanged a glance with Jake before looking at the clock, idly noting that it was way past time for all three of the men to be sleeping, all the while knowing that sleep wouldn't come easily for anyone this morning.

* * *

Juliet used her coffee cup to hide the yawn she couldn't quite stifle as she glanced around the bullpen, taking a short break from the case file laying open on her desk that she couldn't get her tired eyes to focus on for more than two seconds. She might have been better able to cope with the lack of sleep if her and Gus's late night of research had given them something a bit more concrete than the question of just what Shawn might have found in that canvas as well as a final count on the bizarre text messages, that had stopped as suddenly as they had started, because the blonde was already well aware of just how many meaningless texts she'd received from her boyfriend's iPhone. And, though some of the things Shawn did might _appear _meaningless at first blush, Juliet had learned there was always a method to the man's madness.

Unfortunately, the phrase 'at first blush,' too closely reminded her of the time in the interrogation room after the team's final encounter with Yin, when she had been so unnerved at the certainty that they were just marking time until the next crazy rolled in, until Shawn had agreed, taken her hand, and told her that she had him now...right before he compared himself to first a rabbit and then an insect. With a sigh, Juliet rubbed her tired eyes and shook off the memory, certain it was the lack of sleep that was wreaking havoc with her emotions this morning as she saw a friendly face across the bullpen. Standing up, she grabbed her mug to refresh her coffee as she started the tall man's way, noticing he looked just as tired as she currently felt, immediately concerned that something had happened at home. "Everything alright, Buzz?" she asked, unconsciously mirroring her last conversation with the young officer.

"Morning, Detective O'Hara," Buzz greeted cheerfully, if a bit muffled as he suppressed a yawn, "Everything's about the same as the last time we talked...I guess I am just tired this morning because I didn't sleep well last night."

The blonde could tell there was something more on the officer's mind than just the last time they had spoken, but there was also a determination there that made her smile just a little as well. Because though he still looked concerned, he no longer seemed as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and no matter how broad those shoulders may be, even they couldn't handle that burden for long. "Something on your mind?" She asked curiously, wondering if the tall man was ready to talk about whatever it might be.

"Well, I was sitting on my couch early this morning, unable to sleep, I started going through all the texts I've received recently from Shawn's phone number," he began, confirming Juliet's suspicion that the young officer was just as concerned about her boyfriend as she was, "And the more I looked at them, the more convinced I became that, though they came from his phone, they just don't seem to have been written by him," Buzz answered a bit hesitantly, knowing just how ridiculous his statement might sound, but certain he was on the right track. When he had woken up that morning, he told himself that he was going to trust his instincts, and they were insisting Shawn wasn't the one sending the messages.

He was still a little bit taken aback when the junior detective merely nodded and remarked, "I think you're onto something there, Buzz, Gus and I went through all the texts we got and came to the same conclusion, but don't know what, if anything, we can do about it without any proof." Juliet's attention was suddenly drawn across the room when her partner, who'd entered the building looking fed up and exhausted while wearing what looked like a pullover and dark washed jeans, glanced around the bullpen as he played with something in his pocket. Before the blonde was able to do more than idly wonder why the lanky man was hovering on the edge of the room, the door to Chief Vick's office quickly opened, the department's other blonde making a beeline for the head detective while Juliet and Buzz looked on in interest.

Though too far away to hear the words being spoken, her partner seemed extremely close to blowing a fuse as the chief continued speaking, making gestures with her hands until he shoved something discreetly in her hands that was covered in plastic that the junior detective couldn't make out from her vantage point. With a few words, Carlton headed back down the steps, leaving Vick standing there looking at the object in her hand for a moment before tucking it into her pocket and heading back toward her office, both Juliet and Buzz hurrying after her.

* * *

"Ms. Alinksky," the voice of Potter's assistant drifted through the intercom of the office, souring the woman's already volatile mood until he spoke again, "He's here."

Not bothering to reply since she'd given strict orders not to be disturbed until Jordy arrived, she waited for the door of the office to be opened before demanding, "Well?!" of the massive man, his broken nose and dual black eyes unneeded reminders of the last 18 hours only adding to her surliness.

The man cleared his throat before beginning, knowing his mistress wasn't going to be pleased by the lack of results, or by the fact she was going to have to track Phoenix down if she wanted any further details. "After we got out of the show down with Robby and Joe," Jordy commented, grimacing slightly when he recalled just how badly the conversation explaining _that_ event had gone this morning, "We tried to track the SUV down...but we came up empty."

When the redhead's only response was a clipped, "_Leave,_" the injured man breathed a sigh of relief before ducking back out the door, more than happy to put some distance between himself and the woman's temper. And his relief only intensified when he heard the telltale crash of something breaking as he hustled down the hallway, exchanging a commiserating look with the assistant at the desk.

* * *

Reviews are like getting feedback on a recently finished product…nerve wracking while you wonder what people will say, and quite disappointing when you once again manage to come up short.


	17. If Your Life Flashed before You what

What to say? It's been a sad week indeed, and it's been well established that they aren't mine…so I think from this point on I will quit harping on it…hopefully no one suddenly thinks I am claiming ownership of them with that action.

* * *

Chapter 17: If Your Life Flashed before You what would You Wish You would've Done?

The aching pain in his upper left arm as he shifted fitfully in his sleep, jarring the injured area, pulled Shawn into consciousness with startling speed. _Pain? Why am I in—_the consultant answered his own unfinished inquiry as the events of the last few days came crashing back with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, _Would likely hurt less too,_ Shawn admitted as he allowed himself another moment before taking action. He gingerly cracked open only one eye in order to hide the fact that he was awake for a few more minutes in case he wasn't alone in the room, because from the absence of machinery it certainly didn't _feel _like he was in the hospital, and the only other option that his battered brain could come up with was that he was somehow still stuck in hell with that she-devil. _And if that is the case, _he thought groggily, _Then I __**need**__ to do whatever it takes to get out of here before she causes me any permanent damage...if she hasn't already, _Shawn thought, his pounding head and screaming body clearly indicating she might have succeeded a little too well in that endeavor. _If she destroyed my hair…_the thought trailing off when he realized there wasn't much he could do about it in his current condition if she _had_.

Even though his perusal through one cracked eye came up with a nothing more than a sparsely furnished, dimly lit room, the wall, and mostly closed door, he could see from his position, whitewashed and decorated with a varying amount of different posters, all inexpensive reprints, he couldn't shake the feeling that the sooner he got moving the better. _At least until I know exactly what in the world is going on, _he admitted grimly. Satisfied he was alone in the room for the moment, anyway, he cracked his other eye open as far as the swollen tissue surrounding it would allow, giving the space a more detailed survey, and noting that he was carefully tucked into a full sized bed in, what he assumed was the middle of the room since he was on his right side, blankets and pillows piled high around him, and his left shoulder, he noted looking down, the one that had woken him up when he'd jostled it, was bandaged, wrapped around the upper part of his chest and under his right arm, slightly limiting his mobility.

_Well, where ever I am, someone seems to have taken the time and effort to do a pretty good job of patching me up, _he admitted letting his eyes slide closed for a second, extremely thankful to still be breathing after his near death experience against that dumpster. _I really thought I wasn't going to make it there for a minute, _Shawn thought with a sigh, _Never thought I'd actually be __**glad**__ to see those two goons_, _but their arrival saved my ass_. Opening both eyes once again, he steeled himself to move as he shifted ever so slightly, the sound of at least three different male voices carrying through the cracked door from somewhere down the hall causing him to go absolutely still, even though he didn't recognize any of them from either the warehouse or the alley.

Breathing as shallowly as possible, Shawn realized his last clear memory was being pushed out of the moving Sports Utility Vehicle, his grazed left shoulder and side of his face bouncing off the frozen pavement before he blacked out. _That would explain both the pounding head and swollen eye, _he mused, frowning a little as a thought occurred to him, _But, since I am obviously not in the hospital, unless I pulled a Marty McFly and suddenly landed back in time somehow...Then where the hell __**am **__I? _He blinked, wondering just how his train of thought ended up going _there_ in a potentially dangerous situation, and forced himself to breathe and refocus his mind.

Since the injured man was at a complete loss as to exactly who would have gone through the trouble to rescue an injured stranger from the dangerous temperatures, and the threat of hypothermia for the second time in less than four weeks, but _not_ take him straight to the nearest hospital, where the men who had dumped him would surely have discovered he was still alive, Shawn took another moment to clear his head before coming to the decision that, if he wanted to be capable of silently getting out of this bed, which was essentially the first step to getting home, then he was going to have to go from laying on his right side to his left, since pushing up with his injured arm was going to be next to impossible.

It seemed to take forever to shift onto his back, though the pillows propped up behind him might have had something to do with his difficulty, only to immediately realize _why_ he'd been laying completely on his side in the first place when his upper right back loudly protested the pressure Shawn put on it. _Well, I guess that explains the wetness I felt in the alley_, he thought, stifling a cry of pain as he realized the edge of the dumpster must have reopened one of the wounds that Rye had given him while he was being dragged around the mountain. Exhaling slowly, Shawn ignored the pain and continued to shift inch by inch until he was fully on his left side, biting his lip when he accidentally hit his extremely tender shoulder on the mattress before using his right hand to slowly work his way into a sitting position. Even that small task seemed to take forever and he was shaking from exertion by the time he was finally propped up against the pillows behind him, but Shawn didn't let himself rest, instead sliding his legs out from under the covers, for the first time noticing that he was clad only in his Marvel Comics Cartoon boxer shorts and a thick pair of mercifully clean socks.

_OK, hopefully there are some clothes I can borrow in this room..._he thought with a grimace, images of traipsing around in the freezing temperatures in nothing more than his underwear running rampant through his brain, though he logically knew there was no way he'd be able to manage putting on a pullover shirt in his current condition and not at all certain he'd have any better luck with any sort of bottoms he might come across, mourning the loss of yet another outfit. _I'll burn that bridge when I get there, _Shawn vowed stubbornly, hoping he wouldn't have to rely on pure determination to pull him through the remainder of this mess. Especially once he'd finally succeeded in getting his body into a mostly upright position, and his obviously bruised ribs began screaming in protest about the same time he managed to catch sight of himself in the mirror, almost doing a double take at the person staring back at him.

There was a thick strip of stark white circling his pale forehead; his hair was messy, but _not _the deliberately messed up do the consultant had perfected over the years, and sticking straight up in every direction possible, almost as if Shawn had stuck his hand in an electrical outlet, and all the scrapes or bruises he could see under his bandaged shoulder and traveling across his torso, even in the sparse light, made him cringe in recollection as he steeled his resolve once again. The very first step he attempted to take away from the bed, however, overset the injured man's balance, causing him to bump his tender ribs against his free arm as he sagged, tearing an involuntary cry from his lips that resulted in the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. _Craaaaapp…_

* * *

Gus sighed as he glanced around his office, trying to figure out what to do next. Though it was only Tuesday, and rather _early _on Tuesday for that matter, without Shawn around to distract him or pull him out of work, he'd already completed his route for the week, reorganized his sample case, and had just finished cleaning out his desk. _Which leaves me at a complete loss as of what exactly to do to fill the remaining six hours of my day, _he thought irritably, as he glared at the clock on the wall, futilely wondering if the darn thing was broken, despite the clear evidence of the second hand ticking steadily away indicating it was in working order.

With a small shake of his head, the salesman forced himself to look away from the clock, turning his chair toward his computer and moving his mouse slightly to wake up his monitor before launching Space Invaders, revving up for a therapeutic bout of blasting some aliens. Within minutes of starting his defense, however, Gus was assaulted with a memory of the time, almost seven years ago, when his best friend had unceremoniously burst in on an almost identical situation and immediately threw his well-ordered world into a tailspin that Gus had tried to convince himself was simply another hassle to put up with, and not some of the most exciting times of his life.

Glancing down at the placement of his fingers Gus could hear Shawn's words as plainly as if the hazel eyed man was in the room with him, almost causing the dark skinned man to see if his best friend had somehow managed to sneak in without him knowing. _"They're paying you to play video games?" _As the remembered question reverberated through the small space, Gus could still hear his replied exclamation, and the resignation behind it, about how Shawn did it, and his best friend's rapid fire comeback that was so simple, but yet so complex at the same time. "_Come on! Left hand, space bar, right hand, arrow keys. Gus, you should ask me a challenging question every once in a while, just for kicks..."_

"Alright, Shawn," he quietly remarked to the empty room, "I have a challenging question, just where the hell _**are**_ you?" only to jump in surprise when his office door immediately flew open, almost as if in answer to his inquiry, Gus's eyes flew to the spot, his confusion giving way to a deep trepidation when he saw Frankjim Ogletree enter his office, closing the door behind him.

"Burton, let's chat," the regional sales manager who, up until recently, had been acting as boss since Shawn had called in an anonymous tip that had led to Paul Haversham getting indicted by the FBI almost four years ago, declared in his patented mix of condescension and arrogance, causing the salesman to suppress a groan at _what _the man could possibly want now.

_He'd better not be sending me to another last minute 'vital' conference, _Gus silently griped, recalling just what a waste of time the last one had been. "Yes, Mr. Ogletree?" he asked, trying not to let the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach get to him as he waited for the other man to respond.

"Should I even waste my time being hopeful you got lots of pertinent information out of your makeup conference?" Ogletree started, his tone clearly indicating it was the dark skinned man's fault that a makeup conference was even _necessary_ in the first place, and, while that was _technically _true, there wasn't any way Gus could have foreseen the events that had caused him to leave the last conference early.

"It was _different..._" Gus replied slowly, not entirely certain where the manager was going with his question, since Ogletree was the one who'd _sent_ him out to Seattle in the first place. _Nothing good can come from admitting just how bad that conference ended up being..._he admitted, wondering exactly what it was that he had missed, because he had no clue what was going on here.

"So in other words, it was a complete waste of company resources sending you out there..." Ogletree returned in annoyance, leaving Gus sitting there in even more confusion, which, up until a moment ago, he wouldn't have even thought was possible. _If even __**he**__ figured it was a waste of time and resources to send me out there..._

"Then why did you?" Gus couldn't help but ask incredulously, voicing the last half of his thought, totally thrown by the other man's statement.

"My boss ordered me to," the manager responded in frustration before exiting the office without another word, the door swinging silently shut behind him. _Since when does Ogletree do __**anything **__he doesn't want to do, especially when it costs the company money? _Not quite sure how long he sat there with his musing, the dark skinned man was vaguely aware of his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket, fishing it out and hitting the accept button without bothering to look at the display.

Gus answered his cell phone with a distracted, "Hello?" still trying desperately to process the information Ogletree had dropped on his head, but the junior detective's words on the other end of the line snapped him out of his thoughts in a heartbeat, "_What?!"_ he exclaimed in disbelief, vaulting out of his chair and grabbing his jacket as he headed for the door at top speed.

* * *

Weiver, review, anyway you phrase it—just tell me what you think. Seriously.


	18. And with Every Moment Wasted it doesn't

I don't have anything to say that won't sound like I'm whining….so here you go.

* * *

Chapter 18: And with every Moment Wasted it doesn't Feel like Anything was Learned after the Fall

Phoenix completed his final set of repetitions on the bench press, taking his time to replace the heavy bar to the overhead holder before acknowledging Robby's presence with a resigned, "What?" already knowing from the look on the man's face that he wasn't going to be the least bit pleased by whatever news the man had brought him, and he wasn't surprised when a sound reached his ears seconds later, that _wasn't_ the heavier set man's explanation. "Damn it, Potts," Ellery muttered under his breath, wanting his sensible sister-in-law back, instead of this fire shrieking harpy she had morphed into over the last week. Not for the first time since this fiasco had started, he wondered, as he watched her stride toward him, if he wasn't going to have to take drastic measures against a woman who had been closer to him than his own blood.

_And all over a random guy,_ he thought, a touch of sadness at how effectively one man could manage to drive a wedge between them, _Especially since now that the pain in the ass had actually been taken care of, Potter has been showing a side of herself I've never really seen before, _and Phoenix had to admit that there was no way it could be good for the business to draw so much undue attention to themselves. _Even __**my**__ connections can only do so much, _he mused with a sigh, sorting through what options he truly had, aside from the two most obvious ones of either shutting down their operations until the storm blew over, something Phoenix was extremely reluctant to do, or the other end of the spectrum of taking care of the tough as nails woman, possibly for good.

With a small shake of his head, the sweaty man got up and met Potter half way across the private gym, not sure he even wanted to know what had gotten her dander up now, having a sinking feeling he knew _exactly _what it was, certain she would waste no time in blasting him since she'd just barged into a club of which she wasn't even a member. "What the hell are you playing at, dodging my attempts to contact you, Phoenix?" she demanded hotly, not at all put off by the crowd that had started to form.

He gave the owner of the health club a discrete head shake at his questioning look as he turned toward the redhead, motioning before speaking, "I would prefer to continue this discussion somewhere a bit more private, Potts," sighing when he realized the shower that he'd been daydreaming about during his workout was going to have to wait as he headed toward a more secluded area. "Alright, now what was so dire you had to interrupt my work out?"

Directing a look toward him that would have made a lesser man cower, Potter insisted stubbornly, "You are _well_ aware of what I am referring to, Ellery."

_Yep, even now that pain in the ass is causing a rift..._"You lost him, and I took care of it. End of story," Phoenix declared shortly, sick to death of the whole thing.

"_**No,**_ it's far from the end," the woman vowed gravely before storming out of the room and back through the gym, leaving the drenched man thinking that Plan B was starting to look better and better all the time.

* * *

Stifling a yawn after his third failed attempt since he finished patching up Spencer to take a nap, Charlie was quietly discussing a few things about the bar with Jake in the far corner of the kitchen as Marcus sat at the table, when a cry of pain from the room where Spencer was resting caused him to rush forward with a disbelieving, "There's no way the man can be awake yet," as he ignored the other two occupants of the room and called himself a million kinds of fool for not staying with the injured man. _If he's aggravated something while shifting in his sleep, or was hurt worse than I initially thought, I don't know what I am going to do..._the medic fumed, visions of all the things he could have missed last night, like a severe concussion or internal bleeding running rampant in his head, as he reached the end of the hallway, throwing open the door and flipping on the light when he realized not only was the battered man awake, but he had also managed to _somehow _make it out of the bed in his condition, even if he hadn't gotten more than a foot from it. The muscular man saw red, not quite believing what he was witnessing with his own eyes and completely oblivious to the fact that both Jake and his brother were hovering a bit farther down the hallway, watching the scene with undisguised interest.

"Jesus, Spencer!" Charlie exclaimed in exasperation, causing the temporarily blinded man to freeze in his place, good eye widening in shock, before the tension faded from his body, revealing just how intent he'd been on escaping. From what or where, exactly, the bartender didn't know..._yet_, but this was the man responsible for saving his life, a man he owed everything to, and he wasn't about to just up and let him disappear, especially with how badly injured he'd been when Markie had found him on South Muskegon Street. If one took into account a vast majority of Shawn's wounds were in various stages of healing and some were barely visible, it all added up to something the former Army medic wasn't sure he wanted to even contemplate. When the hazel eyed man swayed slightly, Charlie shook his head at forgetting, even for a heartbeat, just how weak and unstable Spencer was, quickly approaching the man who was leaning even more heavily on the edge of the frame by the second, helping him get settled back into the middle of the bed before speaking.

"Are you _**trying**_ to get yourself killed?!" Charlie exclaimed in frustration, in that moment beyond caring that his old friend might not respond well to yelling after having been shot and pushed out of a moving vehicle, and causing both of the men lurking in the hallway to creep closer to the doorway to better hear any possible response, even though they figured no one was foolish enough to argue with Charlie when he got like this, "You're in _**NO **_shape to go trying to pull one of your crazy stunts, you idiot," he scolded, ignoring the mulish look directed his way from the bed. No, he was definitely getting to the bottom of what was going on...After all, he certainly wasn't without connections in the Windy City, having lived here most of his life, and the people he had associated with during his youth could secretly ferret out information that even the CIA or FBI would have a hard time getting their hands on. _And I'm not above cashing in a few old favors if I need to, _Charlie silently vowed as his unexpected houseguest not only didn't back down, but also actually opened his mouth in response.

"Yeah, well you know, you'd be jumpy too if you kept repeatedly waking up in places _**you **_didn't go to sleep, Chucky," the grumpy reply came back in a slightly scratchy voice, hazel eyes fiercely alert despite one of them being swollen partially shut and the surrounding bruises and bandages.

_Well, whoever beat the holy hell outta him didn't break his obstinate nature, at least,_ he thought, blinking with relief, _But that doesn't mean I'm about to let him off the hook that easily_. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice," Charlie reprimanded sternly in an inflection he reserved for when Markie was sick, an amused eyebrow raise the only response forthcoming from the man in the bed, before he let his eyes slide shut against the light. The former medic was carefully re-examining the dressings he could see on Shawn's arm to make sure nothing seemed to be bleeding through, but Spencer's question just as the medic was pulling the covers up caused him to raise an eyebrow of his own.

"Your brother and friend gonna come in, or just lurk in the hallway all day?" Glancing from the man on the bed, whose eyes never reopened, to the two startled faces in the doorway, Charlie motioned for Jake and Markie to enter the room, marveling at the fact that this man never ceased to amaze him. "People who hover make me nervous," Shawn remarked quietly the same time that Marcus spoke up as he stayed near the door warily, his voice filled with disbelief.

"_How_ did you know I was his brother?"

Cracking open one hazel eye Shawn answered the teen simply, "Well, it could be that you two have the same jaw line and nose, or the almost identical stance when you're not quite sure what is going on around you, or," the man continued after a moment, "I could be psychic, I'll let you decide," before allowing his right eye to drift closed once again, not surprised that his friend was studying him closely, most likely trying to figure out if he'd received a concussion after cracking his head on the frozen concrete. _Thankfully my shoulder took the brunt of it,_ Shawn thought with a sigh, grumbling, "You can stop looking at me like my brain is fried, Chucky, it's not like this is the _worst_ situation I've ever been in…" trailing off when he broke into a deep yawn.

_And his quirky sense of humor is still intact_, Charlie added to his mental list a moment later, exchanging a look with Jake at just how stunned his younger brother appeared by Shawn's spot on, if flippant, answer as he headed toward the doorway with a stern, "OK, then get some sleep, Spencer…" he paused in the doorframe, still reluctant to leave the injured man, despite the evidence that he apparently hadn't managed to scrambled his brains on the hard concrete. "If you need anything I'll be in the kitchen, just call out," Charlie finished, hoping the idiot wouldn't get back out of bed and harm himself further, before cracking the door behind him, extremely relieved the man seemed to be mostly OK despite his ordeal. _Which I will get to the bottom of just as soon as he's rested a bit more, _he vowed as he headed back into the kitchen, his brother and Jake trailing silently behind him.

One thought was first and foremost in the bouncer's mind as he sat at the heavily scarred table, his mind still not quite managing to grasp exactly what had just happened in Calvin's old room, _I guess this really __**is **__what a miracle looks like..._

* * *

Henry was scanning the notes he'd spent the last half hour making, hoping something would jump out at him during the most recent perusal that had so far remained elusive, all the while knowing that, without Shawn around to consult, there wasn't really any reason for the liaison to be at the station. He tossed his reading glasses on the desk next to the paper and was rubbing his eyes when a familiar voice reached his ears, causing him to glance up in surprise as the pharmaceutical salesman made a beeline for Juliet's desk.

The man briefly wondered what his son's best friend was doing here, looking like he was on the verge of having a breakdown, but the sight of the next person to enter the bullpen, presenting himself much more like Henry was used to in his navy suit than when he'd knocked on his door earlier after trekking across town, commanded his attention. _Well, Lassiter certainly seems irate about something, _the liaison mused as the head detective fought with something on his desk, suddenly exclaiming, "Who's been messing with my drawers?!" the room falling silent under the man's ire as Juliet hurried over to see what was amiss with her partner. Curiosity getting the better of him, since this was the first time the lanky man had acted this way since the whole thing with Shawn had begun, Henry abandoned his paperwork and ventured closer to investigate, catching the tail end of the blonde's question.

"...hat exactly is the problem here, Carlton?" Juliet asked slowly as she surveyed the metal furniture, not understanding what the head detective was getting so worked up about.

Lassiter pulled open one of his desk drawers, retorting in annoyance, "I would think it was obvious, O'Hara, someone has clearly been messing with my desk!"

She blinked a few times, seeing nothing wrong with the drawer in question before answering, "Looks OK to me," rushing on when it seemed her partner was going to interrupt, wanting to get something out in the open, "But maybe _**someone**_," she stressed the word, "Might have gotten fed up with all the secrets you've been keeping..." Juliet's look speaking volumes about exactly what she was referring to.

The comment certainly had the desired effect, visibly deflating the man's anger as he responded grudgingly, "It wasn't like I didn't _**want**_ to tell you what was going on, but the chief told me to keep it quiet from _everyone_ for the moment, at least until we knew more."

In the end, it was the unexpected, but earnest, regret written plainly across her partner's face that convinced Juliet to put aside the hurt, for the moment at least, she'd been harboring since Chief Vick had brought her and Buzz up to speed a few hours ago, because up until that point, she'd had her suspicions that something was up, but the words the department's other blonde had dropped on her confirmed things she'd wished she had simply been imagining. "We can worry about all that later, Carlton, right now we need to pool our resources to solve this, and find Shawn," the junior detective declared with a conviction she just didn't feel in her heart, but she'd made a promise to her boyfriend in that interrogation room two years ago, a promise she had no intention of breaking if she could help it.

_And I would protect you right back..._

* * *

…


	19. It's Always Good and When the Flood is

Chapter 19: _It's Always Good and When the Flood is Gone we Still Remain _

Having completely given up on any notion of sleeping, Jake instead decided to work on making something to eat on the stove, letting Marcus sit at the table in contemplative silence, and silently thanking someone up there that Charlie had finally laid down on the couch to take a nap as he thought about their strange houseguest, when a sound came from the direction of the hallway where the hazel eyed man was supposed to be resting. Recalling a few hours ago when Charlie had gone rushing in there, only to find the injured man out of bed and on the move in his condition, Jake quietly inched toward the small sitting room on the first floor where the former Army medic had laid down an hour prior, causing Marcus to raise an inquisitive eyebrow as he passed. The sight that greeted the bouncer when he reached the doorway to the room made the older man smile, because somewhere in the course of the last three hours, the patient had become the caretaker, as he watched Shawn slowly, and rather awkwardly, pull an old rag quilt that Calvin's wife had made years ago off of the back of the couch and situate it over the sleeping man.

Without turning around, the injured man, who'd somehow dug one of Calvin's old plaid bathrobes out of the closet that had never quite managed to get emptied since the man's death, and gotten into it without anyone knowing, though something about the image just didn't look right, softly spoke, "I was beginning to think Chucky wasn't going to do the sensible thing and get some sleep," giving his friend one last look before he silently turned around and gestured toward the kitchen with his right hand. It was only then that Jake realized just what had caught his attention from behind, because, although Shawn had managed to get his right hand into the robe's arm hole, the left side was oddly empty and the front hung open, the tie swaying slightly with the man's movement.

Suppressing a sigh, Jake nodded at the consultant's gesture, waiting for him to exit the living room only to stop him once they'd both reached the hallway. "Let me," the white haired man stated gruffly at the slightly wary look, disapprovingly eyeing Shawn's halfhearted attempt to dress before helping their 'guest' work his left arm into the garment with a surprising amount of patience and loosely tying the belt, grumbling about 'scrambled brains' and 'crazy notions.'

"I hope no one minds that I borrowed the robe," Shawn remarked after a moment, pretending not to have heard the older man's comments, _He and my dad would get along swimmingly…_"But I couldn't lie there any longer and I wanted to be covered in something more than just my boxers for the grilling I am sure to receive," he finished with a knowing look that seemed to accentuate the bruises on his face.

_Or maybe it's just the lighting out there in the hallway making it look that way…_Jake thought, chuckling as the pair entered the small kitchen, somehow nowhere near as surprised as he would have been a few hours ago at the fact their strange guest knew the older man didn't quite trust him. Marcus, who had been staring sullenly at the table, suddenly glanced up at the sound of Shawn's stomach rumbling loudly in the space, still not entirely sure how this man, who'd been so close to death's door mere hours before, was up and moving, as slow as the movement was, and acting as though this kind of thing was an everyday occurrence for him. _Though maybe it was, _the teen admitted wryly, recalling the odd remark Shawn had made and realizing he had no idea, other than the few details Chaz had dropped here and there since he'd come back from the Army, just what his brother's old friend had been doing in the Windy City so long ago, and absolutely no clue just what he might have been up to in the last fifteen years, _After all, he could be a thief, or a killer, or a con man...One just never knew these days_.

The hazel eyed man simply gave the other two a very small shrug at their incredulous looks, knowing now might be the best time to get some of his questions answered without being looked at like he'd totally gone off the reservation. "So, exactly what day is it, guys?" he asked casually when neither one of the other occupants of the room made an effort to talk, making his way to a free chair and carefully sitting at the table. Glancing up after a second of silence, the injured man wondered if he wouldn't have been better tackling the subject with Chucky, even if the man would likely look at him, and treat him, like he had the mother of all concussions, despite the clear evidence to the contrary, with the dual looks that clearly conveyed they thought he was a couple shakes short of a sauce bottle that were currently being directed his way. _And here I thought the looks I had gotten after my psychic quip were bad, _Shawn admitted, wondering just how much fun _that_ explanation was going to be.

"Tuesday," Jake said after a while, his tone clearly conveying his agitation while his answer caused Shawn's eyes to widen slightly in shock from his place at the table.

"Damn, well I guess that explains my unruly stomach," he remarked quietly, causing the older man to laugh out loud while the teen merely blinked for a few seconds.

"Why in the world would the day of the week explain your _stomach_?" Marcus asked, confusion evident in his voice as he tried, and failed, once again to figure this odd man out. _Man, Chaz certainly can pick 'em…_

"Mainly," Shawn replied, unperturbed by the abrupt question, "Because the last time I ate anything was early Friday, and that means for once my stomach actually has a reason to make itself known."

While the teen merely stared across the table at him in shock, trying to process the information, Jake immediately piped up, "We don't have much to offer right now, but would you like something to eat?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Shawn responded gratefully, admitting, to himself at least, that it was the siren's song in the form of delicious aromas wafting down the hall from the kitchen that had finally lured him out of his room, making him realize just how painfully hungry he really was, before he had come across the sleeping man on the couch. And, though Jake knew he really wasn't much of a cook, ten minutes later, after the faux psychic had greedily devoured a good sized plate of his huevos rancheros and couldn't stop raving about them, the older man was feeling like a James Beard award winning chef, right up until the moment the hazel eyed man declared, "You know, Chucky, that throbbing vein in your forehead _can't_ be good for you..." causing the gazes of the other two occupants to fly to the door in surprise.

* * *

The vein in Lassiter's forehead, the one that never seemed to quite cease throbbing whenever Spencer was in trouble, which was almost always, was screaming at him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He knew the man had messed with his desk, just _**knew**_, because no one else could possibly be suicidal enough to touch his property in the police station, even when the head detective wasn't in the building, much less the city, to stop him. Though, how exactly the consultant had managed to get into the building undetected, especially since the chief had left excruciatingly explicit instructions that the man child was not to so much as set foot into the station without her authorization, was a mystery in and of itself.

_The fact that he did anyway, however, isn't…._Lassiter admitted with a sigh as he examined his desk, trying to figure out what Spencer had done to the metal piece of furniture, _It__ isn't even all that shocking for the idiot to have done it, _knowing he'd have been far more surprised had the hazel eyed man listen to the blonde's order. But that fact didn't change the fact that the consultant, as well as the expensive coin he'd briefly given to him, had vanished more than seventy two hours ago, and, as much as the head detective hated to concede defeat, the department had just about exhausted its resources for the information they currently had. _Unless something else, and it has to be __**BIG**__, comes up soon, _Lassiter mused with a sigh, _The chief is going to have no choice but to pull all but the minimum, mainly Henry and Gus, who don't technically work here, of the people back to active, and viable, cases...A fact that neither man is going to be at all pleased by...and that's not even mentioning O'Hara, _he thought with a grimace, knowing her true feelings about his little jaunt off to Ridgecrest were only postponed until later, and nowhere near forgotten. Resolutely pushing the unpleasant thought aside, he focused on the conversations going on around him, if one could stoop so low as to call the overlapping mass of gibberish conversation.

Guster and O'Hara were closer to the opposite side of the mostly deserted bullpen, his partner patiently explaining something to the pharmaceutical salesman while his expression got more and more incredulous, and Buzz was talking to Mr. Spencer at the older man's desk, a frown on the tall man's puppy dog features as Henry quietly spoke. Giving up on trying to sort through the background noise, Lassiter went back to going over his desk with a fine tooth comb, or a magnifying glass that he just happened to keep in one of his top drawers, to be precise. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary from above, the lanky man changed angles crouching down near the drawer in question and inspecting the offending area as best he could, even shining his penlight into the dark space. He sighed in frustration when his search yielded nothing new, knowing there was something different about this particular part of his desk, though he wasn't able to come up with one piece of evidence through his fifteen minute inspection.

For a fleeting moment he wondered if this was how Spencer tended to feel when he insisted that something completely off the wall was indeed the truth, but shuddering at the comparison, not the mention the tiniest reminder of the first and _last_ time he tried to work the way the man child did, brought the lanky man back to task faster than anything else. Firmly pushing the metal compartment shut, Lassiter set the magnifying glass on the desk, mentally reviewing what little information he and Henry had been able to ferret out in Ridgecrest, knowing just how woefully inadequate it really was going to be to find Spencer, but if a garbled '_ocone yelreflex peasig' _had been enough to find the man three years ago, maybe the annoying consultant had at least one more trick up his sleeve to clue them in on his current circumstances. _ Because if he doesn't, then I have absolutely no idea what else we can even hope to do from here..._

* * *

Marcus sat in shock, exchanging the merest of glances with Jake before shooting a surreptitious look at his livid brother in the doorway after Shawn's sudden remark, or at least what he had _expected _to be his livid brother, but, instead of exploding at finding the hazel eyed man awake, Charlie merely stared at him for several moments before chuckling softly, shaking his head. "Well, since you refuse to rest, you might as well tell me why you're in Chicago, Shawn," the muscular man remarked, watching the injured consultant at the table very closely, thankful a moment later that he had been doing so because, if he hadn't been, Charlie would have certainly missed the slight stiffening at his comment. Raising an eyebrow when Shawn didn't respond, the silence only strengthening his feeling that something major was going down, he continued, "You have no clue what you're doing here, do you?" ignoring the annoyed look the seated man shot his way.

_Wow, even as hurt as he is, _he mused silently, _The man doesn't give an inch, _more determined than ever to find out what was happening with his friend. "I wouldn't exactly say _**no**_ clue, Chucky," Shawn grumbled grudgingly after a moment, "I've got it about sixty_ish_ percent worked out, at least I hope I do," the former medic heard the hazel eyed man mumble as he tried to unsuccessfully suppress a yawn, causing Charlie to frown.

"Don't think I'm not going to dig further into _**that**_ comment, man," the muscular man remarked before turning suddenly somber as he studied the seated man, "But seriously, Shawn, you're barely managing to stay upright in that seat as it is, so I don't suppose we can have this conversation back in the other room?" He really didn't want to have to lug the man's unconscious form around again if he could help it, so he was pleasantly surprised when the hazel eyed man agreed with only a few mumbled words he couldn't catch, slowly getting out of his seat and going over to Jake, quietly saying something to the older man before shuffling past Charlie and through the door, leaving the muscular man standing there.

After a questioning look toward his father's old friend that was met with an ear to ear grin, instead of the slightly suspicious glances he'd been giving out earlier, Charlie gave his brother a brief once over as he left the room and headed down the hallway, making sure Spencer didn't need any assistance. Though the hallway was quite short, spanning no more than 20 feet from the kitchen to the doorway of the bedroom, it took the injured man almost five minutes to reach the end and enter the area beyond. As much as the medic wanted to step in, he knew just how stubborn the consultant could be, so he stayed in the background just to ensure the man didn't fall on his face and injure himself any further, frowning when a thought occurred to him, "Are you in a lot of pain?" Charlie asked while the other man continued working toward the four poster bed.

"Define a lot," was the only part of the muttered reply that the bartender was able to decipher. _Man sure mutters a lot…_

"Well, you gouged your shoulder pretty good, and that looks like it reopened an older wound, and that's not even counting all the scrapes and bruises on your face, but on top of all that you managed to get yourself shot in the left arm," Charlie shot back, not sure what was up with his friend, and more than a little surprised by the complete lack of shock that statement caused, at least until he recalled the distinctive scar he'd seen on the unconscious man earlier. _Gonna have to see if I can find out that story, as well as this whole 'psychic' business,_ he thought with interest.

"I'll survive," Shawn responded, stopping mid shrug when it pulled uncomfortably before continuing with a sheepish look, "Though I definitely wouldn't turn down a semi-truck full of Tylenol right now…." Charlie waited for the hazel eyed man to get onto the bed and situated before heading back into the main area for the bottle and a glass of water, knowing the little white caplets would not be enough to do more than maybe dull the pain a bit, and hopefully to take the sharp edge off, though at least none of the injured man's wounds were life threatening, _Just annoying as hell while they heal_, he griped silently as he returned to the room.

Even though Charlie had his doubts about how likely it was going to be that Shawn would be up to talking once he was finally back in the bed, the muscular man was pleasantly surprised when his first question came immediately after Shawn had downed the pills and some water, "So, do I even want to know what happened that brought me to your place?" already fairly positive that Chucky's brother had something to do with it…_Not that I am ungrateful_, Shawn silently admitted, knowing what the alternative would have been.

Content, for the moment at least, to let the man talk about the psychic remark, as well as this sixty _ish _percent when he was ready, not matter how curious he was about them now, Charlie pondered for a moment what to tell the man that he wouldn't automatically ferret out as the lie it was. _After all, Markie and TBone were probably just getting closer to see if he had anything of value on him..._"My brother and a...friend," he settled on, hating to use that word in reference to TBone, but even more reluctant to try to explain right now as he ignored the raised eyebrow directed at him because of the hesitation, "Were out early this morning and found you injured and unconscious on the street, and decided to see if you needed any help," the former Army medic hedged, knowing the second it cleared his lips that the man in the bed wouldn't buy the weak excuse for even a portion of a second, and he wasn't disappointed when the response came.

"So, pretty much," Shawn shot back, noting the slight movement in the hallway beyond. _Ah, someone __**is**__ eavesdropping...probably Marcus, _he mused, figuring the shadow was too tall and lean to be Jake, "They were walking by, found me and decided to try to steal my wallet and anything else of value I might have had on me," he correctly guessed, watching as Charlie flinched under the statement. "Well, I've got news for them, because my wallet and everything in it is _definitely_ long gone," Shawn finished with a humorless laugh, a ridiculous pang filling him over the loss of his iPhone. _And_ _I somehow doubt my carrier is going to let me replace it for anything even remotely resembling cheap, _he grumbled as he waited for Charlie to continue.

"Which brings me back to my inquiry in the kitchen," the bartender pushed on as he ignored the comment, wanting to get any information he could while Shawn was mostly awake. "What in the world _are_ you doing in Chicago, man?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, "And what, exactly, do you _think_ you have sixtyish percent of worked out?" his tone unyielding.

"Welllllll," Shawn started on an exhaled breath, causing Charlie's eyebrow to rise even further into where his hairline _should_ be as he watched the shadow in the hallway move slightly closer. _Might be time to teach the teen a lesson since he seems to be driving his brother batty…must run in the family,_ the faux psychic chuckled as he thought back to another annoying Parker who needed a kick in the face 15 years ago,_ But first things first…_"It's a long story...involving a couple of thugs; a mountain; a really, _really _ugly painting; an old coin and a crazy old lady," the injured man answered, "Not to mention her equally psychotic daughter," he muttered under his breath, staring at the far corner of the room, as an afterthought.

Far from being satisfied with the inadequate, and frankly even _more _puzzling, response, Charlie pulled a nearby chair up to the bed, turning it around and straddling it as he declared, "You've got nothin' but time right now, man, so I suggest you start at the beginning."

"Wow," Charlie muttered over an hour and a half later, surprised that Shawn had stayed awake to tell his tale. _Wonder just how much he managed to skirt around, _the bartender mused as he took several long moments to mull over the plethora of information, as surprising as most of it was, he'd just gotten from Shawn. Choosing not to focus at this particular second on the fact that, despite the extravagant story, his old friend really _didn't_ have a clue as to why he was in Chicago, or exactly who was responsible for the turn of events, he latched onto one fact in particular. "You went back to Cali? I thought you told me you were never going back there," he remarked in surprise, recalling the man opposite him as well as his vehement, and repeated, declaration from years ago.

"Yeah, well a whole hell of a lot can happen in 15 years," Shawn responded dryly, trying desperately to change the subject because he was still working on how to let the people he cared about know he was alive without putting them in danger, and not really focused on the conversation. _Lassie, Vick and Buzz will be easy…._the consultant silently admitted, _What to do for Jules, Dad, and Gus? _Blinking, he realized the room had gone quiet, and suddenly asked, "But what have you been up to?"

"I joined the Army shortly after you left, and spent almost 10 years as a medic before coming back home when I learned that my grandfather had died to be here for Markie," Charlie answered simply, as if that explained everything, because, the more he studied the hazel eyed man's demeanor, the more certain he became that Shawn had glossed over the more sensitive, and serious, details of his ordeal and if his old friend thought that it was going to be the end of it, he had another thing coming. _But I can watch and wait it out_…Charlie silently admitted, thinking of just how stubborn he could be if he wanted something. _Guess it's just one of those things we have in common…Now I just need to get to the bottom of this whole 'psychic' thing, _he realized that was one thing his friend hadn't touched on.

"Man, I'm sorry to hear about Calvin," he offered, knowing just how much Chucky had looked up to the older man after the death of his parents…Even if he had chosen to act out at the time instead of talk about it. Then he blinked a few times as part of the man's statement registered in his sluggish brain, "Wait…_You_ became a medic?" Shawn exclaimed, wondering just how he'd missed that fact, but suddenly understanding how he'd ended up being patched up so nicely and briefly wondering what the odds were that he'd actually managed to land here in his time of need. _Even if I am pretty sure that Chucky didn't buy my official version of the facts, _he thought, not willing to divulge the majority of what had happened in the warehouse, or beyond, _in that alley,_ Shawn admitted with a shudder, when Charlie's response brought him out of his uneasy recollection.

"Like you said, man, a lot can happen in 15 years..."

* * *

It's great to add an author or a story to a person's favorites, and it's even greater to read an author's works…but reviewing, even if it's only a few words, is the greatest thing a reader can do, not only because it proves there are people out there reading, but also because it actually makes the story better and allows the author to look at things in future chapters that she might not have thought about…


	20. You and I go Hard at Each Other like We

Chapter 20: You and I go Hard at Each Other like We're Going to War...

Potter drummed her blood red nails in an impatient tattoo on her desk, wondering how everything could have gone so very wrong in such a short period of time. She was positive that it wasn't anything _**she**_ was had done, conveniently forgetting the fact that she had done the very thing she had promised herself that she _wouldn't_ do from the beginning: she'd underestimated the 'psychic,' and, since she couldn't admit she'd gotten herself into this situation, and the man that she wanted to punish slowly and painfully was forever beyond her reach, she focused her rage on the other person that, in her mind at least, was the one who'd taken Spencer's life, even if he wasn't the one who'd killed him. The fact that he'd once been closer to her than her own flesh and blood suddenly didn't seem to matter anymore, instead being replaced by the overwhelming desire to make someone pay for her getting short changed.

_I'm going to need a game plan, _Potter thought, recalling the last time, when she'd decided she wanted to be the only one running the company and her 'dear' husband, the lying, cheating bastard, had fallen mysteriously ill, helped along by her extensive knowledge of an array of chemicals that were slow and deadly when ingested in small amounts. _And since they are undetectable unless one is looking specifically for them, no one has ever suspected a thing, _the redhead mused with a smirk, thinking of all the things she'd picked up in the meantime. The only real question was how to take care of Phoenix, _Ellery_, she silently corrected herself, because Phoenix was a man she'd trusted with her life for over twenty years through her sham of a marriage, at the beginning of her takeover of the company when most in power had been skeptical of her ability to succeed, and over every single obstacle that had come up in that time, no matter how much he'd disapproved of her methods. But this time he'd gone too far with his high handedness and, perhaps more importantly, Potter could see the writing on the wall from a mile away, because though many failed to see the ruthless side of Ellery Griffin, especially when Potter was standing next to him, since the two were as different as night and day at first glance, the redhead had helped her brother-in-law dispose of more than a few bodies over the years, and she'd seen that exact look that had flashed through his eyes at the gym shortly before each and every time he'd asked for a favor.

_It's just never been directed at me before,_ Potter admitted with a sigh, knowing if she didn't take him out first, then she'd be the one six feet under, _In a dump, out in the woods, at an abandoned construction site, or hell, even somewhere on the bottom of Lake Michigan, _she groused, thinking of all the places they tended to dispose of bodies as she picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart, deciding there was no reason she couldn't have a little bit of fun with this first, just to keep it sporting, as she waited for him to answer, "We have a problem we need to take care of..."

* * *

The phone went dead in Phoenix's ear, causing him to pull it away from his head as he went over the details Potter had given him and wondered what it the world the woman was up to now. Knowing this latest development was probably some sort of trick, but not willing to alienate his sister-in-law any further in case this whole thing was legit, he filed the information away until he chose the best course of action as he set the electronic on the table, giving it one last look before getting to his feet. It took him a few moments to decide exactly what he was going to do with the intelligence he had just been given, as well as to ascertain how closely it needed to be checked out, and then an additional five minutes to figure out which of his men he was going to call to dig up whatever information was out there on this 'latest problem' Potter had brought to his attention, because frankly, the longer he thought about it, the more it seemed she was just throwing something in his path while she came up with a game plan.

Not for the first time, Phoenix wondered if she was onto his own agenda that consisted of eliminating her in the near future, but he immediately decided the notion was rather far reaching because avoiding the issue simply wasn't Pamela's style and, if she suspected anything was going on, then she'd say something to his face. _After all, _he mused as he sat idly in his chair, _I've known her for what feels like forever…And I know how she works, as well as her secrets,_ the raven haired man admitted with a sly grin, certain his sister-in-law wasn't aware that he knew the truth about his brother's death. _But…She very well might be trying to throw a curveball my way, so I'd better take things one at a time…_Giving himself a mental shake, Phoenix went back to the problem at hand.

After narrowing it down to his two best men, he finally settled on Robby because the man could ferret out even the most carefully guarded secrets, with minimal amount of effort. Always one to be prepared, Phoenix had already come up with a counter defense on the chance that this Dorie N. Marlin, the man that Potter was claiming was poking around the warehouses asking questions, was a smokescreen to hide her activities, in the same way the upscale gallery down on Walton Street was a front for their more lucrative activities. So, as he picked up his phone and dialed the man's number, Phoenix knew there were a few places that he could hit her where it hurt the most while he waited for Robby to answer his cell, drumming his fingers on the coffee table as the phone rang three times, and then four.

Just when he had just about given up on the phone being answered a gruff, '_What?" _reached his ears, causing one dyed eyebrow to raise in disbelief at the man's attitude.

"Am I interrupting something?" The raven haired man demanded immediately, not at all pleased by this turn of events as he heard Robby talking in hushed tones to someone on the other end of the line, the urgency in the muscular man's voice palpable through the phone, "_Robby,"_ Phoenix stressed, waiting for a response.

"_Sorry, Boss,"_ the hurried reply came, _"There was a small issue I had to take care of, what do you need me to do?"_

Though he was far from satisfied at the inadequate response, he wanted to find out if Marlin even existed more than he wanted an explanation so he continued, "I need you to find out something for me, _pronto_..."

* * *

Though Robby had assured his boss to the contrary over the phone, the issue he was dealing with was about as far from small as one could get, causing the muscular man to scramble as many men as he discreetly could to get out there to find out what had happened to Spencer, because if there was one thing that would upset his boss above everything else, it was a loose end. _And nothing screams loose end like a body that should have ended up in the morgue, even as a John Doe, failing to surface from such an obvious place in such a big city, _he admitted as he made a few phone calls of his own to try to track down this Dorie N. Marlin that Phoenix had called about. Thirty minutes, and eight phone calls later, Robby was no closer to solving Spencer's mysterious disappearance, and he had _anything_ but good news to give his boss about that strange name, because, as far as he'd been able to tell, that person didn't exist, at least outside of the world of computer graphics. Wishing he could be anywhere else at the moment, he called Phoenix back, knowing the man would be right next to his phone, and not surprised when it was answered before it could even finish one ring.

Deciding to leave out the Spencer issue for now, at least until he had something to report, he gave his boss a brief rundown on everything he'd learned, listening to the next set of instructions carefully as he suppressed a sigh, wondering if it just might be the time to cut his losses and bail, before everything came crashing down, because there was no way this way going to end anyway _but _badly.

* * *

The resounding crash of glass on glass that reverberated through the dimly lit bar as Charlie dumped the empty bottles into the bin caused the few early afternoon patrons to glance over in a mixture of surprise and interest, but Marcus didn't even bother to look up from his perusal out the window as he sulked at a table in the corner. _There's the angel again, _he thought morosely, wondering as he watched her and her small daughter head quickly down the street why he didn't have the guts to simply go up to her and start a conversation, because it wasn't like she was a complete stranger to him. They had grown up in the same neighborhood, and had even attended some of the same classes in school, but Angelica, the perfect woman and Evangeline, her equally adorable three year old daughter, didn't belong here in one of the seedier parts of town.

_And that, in a nutshell, is why you can't find it in you to approach her, you idiot, _Marcus silently berated himself as the two females disappeared into their apartment complex, _She deserves something so much more than this, and until you can offer her even a marginally better life, any association with you would just be bringing her down..._Shaking his head to dispel the negative thought, he tried not to dwell on the brochures he'd stashed in the bottom drawer of his dresser, showcasing all the top schools for architecture in the state, and the accompanying rejection letters from all but two of them, citing his failing attendance and grades for him being a bad fit. _Why won't even just one of them give me a chance? _the teen wondered morosely, worrying that he'd forever be stuck here with Chaz, whom, though he loved dearly, had a very different idea of what life should be, and that fact was the sole reason he'd started hanging out with TBone in the first place.

Charlie, who was completely unaware of the train of his brother's thoughts as he stared out of the window, glanced at the small, ancient television over the bar, not really registering the latest breaking newscast that was scrolling across the fuzzy screen as he mulled over Spencer, and the request he'd made when the bartender had taken the recyclables into the back a few minutes ago. Not entirely certain what the hazel eyed man wanted with the old computer in the office, he'd never the less agreed to let him use it to do a few things on the internet, just as long as he didn't cause the dinosaur to get a virus while out there. _It might be older than the Stone Age, held together by duct tape and a prayer, and slower than an overturned turtle, _the muscular man admitted silently, _But it's the only computer we have ever owned and we just can't afford a new one for the foreseeable future. __Which was really sad, if one actually considered just what that meant for Bar None_, Charlie grumbled with a sigh after a moment, because how pathetic was it that he was worrying about an almost seven year old computer that had been bought just before his grandfather had passed away, and hadn't even been set up until the former medic had returned home after receiving the news of the man's death?

Shaking off the morose thought as he watched the remaining pair head toward the bar to settle the tab, he thanked two of his regulars from the bar's small lunch crowd and was tracking their progress toward the door, when a movement from the doorway to the backroom caught his attentions. Since he, Jake, and Shawn had all agreed earlier that day that it would be best for the injured man to stay out of sight until he knew with any degree of certainty that the people who'd kidnapped him and left him for dead weren't out there looking for him, Charlie quickly pulled the 'Will Return...' sign out from under the bar and displayed it in the window, slanting the shades on the door as he locked it, causing his brother to glance over in surprise as the bartender made a beeline for the back area, asking, "What's going on?"

The response from the hazel eyed man, who'd been staying in the small room that served as an office with Jake, took Charlie completely by surprise. His eyes never leaving the direction of the tiny television screen in the other room, Shawn quickly asked, "Do you have a phone I can borrow?" taking the offered electronic and dialing a number on the cordless phone without looking before holding it to his ear, ignoring the puzzled expressions of the other men. Marcus, who had followed his brother into the office after his uncharacteristic behavior, glanced first at Jake and his clueless expression before turning toward Charlie with a questioning look, mouthing 'What's up?' a shrug the only answer forthcoming as he shifted his attention to the man on the phone. _Man, that guy certainly is an odd duck; just who the heck does he think he is? _the teen mused when Shawn's voice cut through his thoughts as he began talking to the person on the other end of the line.

"Ah, the wrong man was arrested for the robbery..." there was a pause on the other side of the conversation as Charlie realized that Spencer had called the cops, and somehow from _memory_ no less, but he didn't give the conversation his full attention until his friend spoke again, "Uh, the James and Sons _Jewelry_ store robbery..." Blinking as he recalled briefly seeing that name on the breaking news showing on the TV screen in the bar, the muscular man wondered how the hazel eyed man even knew about it when he'd been laying low in the back office, the set was only 19 inches, and the sound had been turned almost all the way down, to the point even _**he'd **_had a hard time hearing it, but if he was surprised now, it was Shawn's next words that caused Charlie's heart to skip a beat. "The store clerk that was arrested doesn't have a slight limp on his left side that is visible in the footage from the hidden video camera the news channel showed, and there's no way he makes enough to afford even a knock off Rolex...the guy being interviewed on Channel 9 is wearing an identical wristwatch to the one in the footage, his stance shows he is favoring his left side, and his pupils are dilated as he answers almost every question beginning with 'to be honest...' My name? My name is Warren Peace," he finished in a rush, ignoring the chuckle from Jake as he ended the call.

Shawn hung up the phone to find all three pairs of eyes in the room fastened on him range from amazement to mute disbelief. Charlie was the first person to recover, exclaiming, "Warren Peace, Shawn? What kind of a name is that?" disbelief evident in the man's voice.

"It's called an alliance, Chucky," Shawn answered breezily, trying to diffuse the situation before anyone started asking questions he wasn't willing to answer. He shifted wearily, cursing his body's need to heel as he went on, a thoughtful look on his face, "And not one of my better ones, at that, but I was kinda put on the spot. It probably ranks a four on a scale of one to ten…"

Marcus, who up until this point had been silent, piped up suddenly, "Alliance? Oh," he said after a moment, "It's _alias_," his tone sounding so much like Gus in that moment that the hazel eyed an wished it was really his best friend correcting him.

"I've heard it both ways," Shaw shot back automatically, shaking off the longing as he reminded himself of everything he'd set in motion that afternoon.

"There's _no_ way that you've heard it both ways," Charlie insisted, his tone filled with confusion as he tried to come up with a scenario that would even remotely encompass both terms, "Because that makes absolutely no sense, Man."

"Agree to disagree," Shawn remarked after a slight pause, knowing the issue of his alias had run its course. _Really only did make a 4 on my scale…_he thought, chuckling because, for a split second, he'd been extremely tempted to toss out one of the nick names he'd used for Gus over the years, before deciding against it. _Those are exclusively his…_he admitted when it occurred to him that everyone was _still _staring his direction.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" the hazel eyed man started discreetly searching the back area of the bar for a mirror that he could see his reflection in, inwardly wincing when he caught sight of his partially swollen left eye and colorful array of bruising on the side of his face where Charlie had removed the bandages from earlier that day, "Chucky! Why didn't anyone tell me that my hair's all messed up?!"

* * *

Reviews are like fireworks, they are explosive and combustible while also generating color, smoke and noise…plus both can be very amusing :3


	21. We Scattered all the Pieces when We

I'll be blunt...As every chapter states, they are not mine and will never be mine.

* * *

Chapter 21: We Scattered all the Pieces when We couldn't just Leave well enough Alone.

"Now _that's _a message from my best friend," Lassiter, who wasn't able to completely hide his slight jump when the dark skinned man spoke up from directly behind him, silently cursed the fact he hadn't heard Guster approach as he checked his email. His scowl, already prominent on his face, deepened considerably when he glanced through his inbox, hesitating before opening a message entitled, "Lassie-face!" from an unfamiliar sender. The head detective hoped like hell that opening the message wouldn't crash his computer, or give it a virus, because the department was ungodly slow to fix things like that. Shaking off the thought, Lassiter went back to studying the email, resolutely ignoring the salesman behind him. Moments later, however, he silently admitted that, beyond the subject line, there were several other indicators that this might indeed be from the department's missing consultant, starting with the three chunks of gibberish that were masquerading as an actual message.

_Certainly reminds me of Spencer's chicken scratch…_the head detective groused with a sigh, _But all that information doesn't do a damn thing to diminish the throbbing headache that has been lingering for the last couple of days…__And now the man's partner in crime has seen this, and is bound to make more out of it than he should, _the lanky man silently griped, closing out the mysterious email and turning toward the other man in annoyance, "There's no way to know that, Guster," Lassiter finally said, not wanting to completely dismiss the man, but also not willing to get anyone's hopes up, especially since Vick had been forced to pull everyone back to active cases earlier that day.

He'd been vainly hoping the other man would remain quiet, after all he _was_ the more sensible of the Psych duo, if there was such a thing, but the head detective wasn't surprised when the pharmaceutical salesman spoke up. "No, not really," Gus admitted softly, acknowledging Lassie had a point, "_**But**_ it simply _screams_ Shawn, Lassiter, and I am pretty sure you know it, even if you won't say so. He's letting us know that, wherever he is, he's alive, even though he can't, or _won't_," he muttered under his breath, hoping to hell that Shawn knew what he was doing, "Tell us more." Gus could even admit he didn't know _where_ the conviction came from, just that he was as certain the email that Lassiter had received just now was from Shawn as he'd been that the texts he'd gotten from his best friend's iPhone _weren't_ from him. A_nd I was right about that, so I am going to trust my instincts,_ he vowed, As well as_ the little voice that keeps insisting that Shawn believed in them too…_knowing what he had to do next.

Though Gus worried that the email was grossly inadequate to telling him what had happened to Shawn after he'd gone out to Ridgecrest or where the hazel eyed man was now, the fact that his best friend seemed OK, just concerned about putting the people he loved in any potential danger, caused him to breathe a sigh of relief as he scanned the bullpen for either Juliet or Buzz. When his perusal came up empty, Gus figured they both must be out on cases and, leaving the lanky man sitting at his computer, he headed for the exit of the station at a fast clip, determined to find Mr. Spencer and get his take on this latest development. And he knew three places that he was most likely to find the older man on his day off.

* * *

"You know, Chucky," Shawn remarked from his perch on the bed, having left the room immediately after throwing his comment out into the silence. He knew this next conversation was going to be next to impossible to predict the outcome of, and he was dreading even bringing the subject up, but he couldn't stop himself from broaching the issue. _Now's as good a time as any, _Shawn mused before continuing, "It might be time to just let Marcus crash and burn on his own, if that is indeed what's going to happen," as he gauged the green eyed man's reaction. _Man, if this doesn't work out the way I imagined, I'm definitely either going to get decked or smothered, _he mused, seeing Charlie's mouth fall open in shock and wondering if he could still make a run for it before pushing further. "I mean, he's _technically _an adult, so it's really his business if he has no desire to ever amount to anything in this world besides being a two bit thug..." watching the twitch of the shadow in the hallway, Shawn continued, inwardly cringing at just how much his own words reminded him of some of his father's more colorful descriptions over the years. "Imagine how much fun he's gonna have explaining to any prospective employer why he has a criminal record, and that's if he's not in jail and can even _get_ to the interview stage, not to mention he'll be lucky if he can ever find a nice girl to give him the time of day," Shawn added for good measure, recalling the young woman and her little girl on the street outside that he'd seen Marcus watching from his table that day.

As Charlie stood there wondering how he'd totally managed to misjudge the man in front of him, how he'd mistakenly carried this image of a warm, caring human being with him for the last decade and a half, he caught a fleetingly small smirk come and go on Shawn's face as the unmistakable sound of his brother barging into the room reached his ears. _Could Shawn have possibly __**known**__ Markie was eavesdropping and said all those things on purpose? _Charlie thought in confusion, something about the entire situation, and his brother's volatile reaction, evoking the feeling of deja vu as he watched the scene unfold. Taking a few steps back to stand next to Jake near the door, who'd ventured into the room a few minutes prior, Charlie shook his head in wonder for the second time that day, noting the impressed look on the older man's face.

"And exactly what would _**you**_ know about any of it, _Whitey?"_ Marcus sneered, ignoring the audible intake of breath from the two men on the other side of the room as he stood over Shawn, desperate to get under the other man's skin the same way this stranger had effortlessly gotten under his in less than 24 hours. He silently called the faux psychic several choice words as he waited for the predicted explosion, _This man knows nothin, __**nothin'**__ about my goals and aspirations in life..._the teen promised himself, seeing Angelica's face in his mind, _I'm gonna be somebody, damn it, and I'm goin' places in my life..._

However, instead of losing his temper as the young man had been expecting, the injured man in the bed simply gave a shrug, stopping the moment it started to aggravate his multiple injuries. He sat there in contemplative silence for several seconds, before seeming to come to a decision and stating, "Because I have one." The hazel eyed man blinked a few times in the aftermath, fighting the urge to laugh at Marcus's disbelieving stare, as well as the dual eyebrow raises from the room's other two occupants.

"Nuh uh," the younger man shot back, sounding much more like a child than the adult he was, completely convinced Shawn's admission couldn't be true. _No way…Chaz said this is the guy who saved his life once, and, though he won't tell me exactly __**how**__ that happened, why would a criminal save my brother—a black man from the ghetto? _"You're just sayin' that, you hafta just be sayin' that," Marcus repeated the denial, shaking his head as he stared at the man in the bed. _But weren't you asking yourself in the kitchen if the dude might not be some kinda con man or criminal?_ A little voice, one that he imagined might have sounded a great deal like his father's, had he been old enough to remember him when he died, niggled at him, causing the teen to worry his bottom lip in contemplation. The room stayed silent as Marcus worked through his concerns, his next words much quieter, and less certain than they'd been just moments earlier, though the defiance was still present. "What'd ya get pinched for?"

_Ah, he's still convinced that I am lying,_ Shawn thought with a snort, realizing that it figured it was one of the first times in his life that he was being totally honest, that people wouldn't believe him. For just a split second, the consultant considered _not_ saying anything, but, since he'd been the one to bring up the sore subject in the first place, there really wasn't any harm in answering the teen. _Might even give Chucky a slightly better insight as to __**why**__ I was so insistent about never returning to California all those years ago_, the hazel eyed man admitted, knowing the other man's curiosity had never been anywhere near satisfied. "I _borrowed_ a car when I was 18…"

"Grand theft auto?!" Marcus interrupted incredulously, studying the man much more closely than he had been mere moments before.

"There were extenuating circumstances…but yeah, I guess so…" Shawn muttered with a sigh, his words effectively deflating what was left of the dark skinned man's anger as if he'd let all the air out of a balloon, leaving him standing speechless in the middle of the room. _Wow, he's not even going to go for the obvious opening I just gave him_, Shawn mused as he kept his eyes on the floored young man. "So, I _do_ speak from actual experience when I say it isn't worth it, Marcus. You're young, you have your whole life ahead of you; a girl you adore, even if it's from afar, and dreams," he pushed on, still watching the dark skinned man closely. "Dreams that don't involve stealing wallets or running hustles for the rest of your life," when he caught the surprised and guilty looks that flashed across the young man's face, Shawn knew he had guessed correctly. "And running with a crowd like TBone," the use of his friend's name, that no one had given to the fake psychic caused Marcus's eyes to widen in shock, "Is guaranteed to rip those dreams to shreds." Giving that information a few moments to sink in, Shawn shifted before continuing softly, "I'm going to share with you something _my_ grandfather told me when I was a boy: don't let anyone take your dreams away, live your own life, make your own choices, and, perhaps _most importantly,_ sometimes you gotta let what other people say float through the ears."

Not really expecting a response, the other three men in the room were surprised when Marcus spoke up, "Sounds like your grandfather was a wise man, just like mine..." before turning and walking quietly out the door, his exit a complete one eighty from his entrance. Even though mentioning his Grandpa Spencer had brought a pang of both joy and sadness to Shawn's heart, he truly believed what his grandfather had told him that day on the beach was the soundest advice someone could give. And, as far as Shawn was concerned, if anyone was in need of advice, it was that young man.

_Well, hopefully, I managed to penetrate his thick skull enough to allow at least some common sense to get in there,_ he thought as it occurred to him just how quiet the room had been since Marcus had walked out. Glancing up he found two pairs of intense eyes, one blue and the one green, watching him. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be," Shawn remarked quietly, "Are you still fighting the urge to throttle me?" he asked the dark skinned man, only half joking. He knew all too well that, if the former Army medic, even _without _some of his more shady connections, chose to, he could make Shawn disappear without any hope of ever being identified, _Or even found for that matter..._

"I was until it dawned on me that the reason you were acting so strange was because of Markie," Charlie admitted without hesitation, his posture relaxed. He turned and was about to exit the room when a thought occurred to him, causing him to stop and address Shawn again. "But how'd you know he was out there?"

"Well, I noticed he was listening in at the door during our talk yesterday, so it stood to reason it was a fairly common occurrence," Shawn answered simply, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Charles," though his tone was completely serious, it was the use of the man's full name that caught Charlie's attention. "Your brother _knows_ you care about him, but he's young and at that age where he thinks you're trying to tell him how to live his life, instead of acknowledging that you're worried and don't want to see him make the same mistakes you did at that point in _your _life. He's got goals, and with enough guidance, he's going to be just fine," he paused, fighting a yawn as his eyes slid closed before continuing more quietly, "Reminds me of a certain other person I once knew..."

* * *

_Wow, this email looks like it might be from Shawn..._Buzz thought in wonder as he scanned his inbox, his eyes catching a message from an unknown sender titled 'Nabby!' The notion occurred to him because, not only was the consultant the only one that called him that, but a random, anonymous email also fit the man's style to a T. Less than ten seconds later, curiosity got the better of the tall man, so Buzz clicked on the title to open the body of the message. He wondered briefly if it was wise, but decided to trust that opening an email from 'Imjustpineappley ' wouldn't result in crashing his computer since the hazel eyed man wasn't around to help him fix it this time. His eyes widened ever so slightly as he read the strange, but relieving, words, _If one could call: _

AAF IGW the blu one, b/c d00d better layout, and the circuits R upd8ted , so NMBF! Though the red ranch L00ks nice 2...Hope all is AOK w/ U and Frannie, tell her I said Hi. Had to DAL to a gr8t friend &amp; an even gr8ter det., u just gotta HF in Urself,

_words, _the young officer admitted as he went about deciphering the abbreviations. Though it took a few minutes, as well as a notepad and a pen to unscramble the more garbled parts of the message, in the end Buzz was pretty sure he'd gotten the gist of it. Glancing around, he was extremely thankful that the station was quiet at this point in the afternoon, because he couldn't quite control the slight blush that had crept up his neck at Shawn's last line. Especially when Buzz recalled just how closely it mirrored what Francie had said to him the other night in their apartment.

He glanced around the bullpen for Detective O'Hara, knowing she'd want to be informed about the email, but, when his perusal came up empty, he assumed she was still in one of the interrogation rooms interviewing one of the witnesses that had come forward for the 594 that had been called in earlier. Figuring he'd swing down that way before heading out for the day, Buzz forwarded the message to his home email and then shut down his computer as he headed into the bowels of the station, a small, relieved smile playing on his face.

* * *

For those of you who couldn't decipher the email (myself included since I had to look things up to even write it…chatspeak is NOT my strong suit) this is what it is supposed to say:

As a friend, I would go with the blue one, because dude, better layout, and the circuits are updated, so no more blown fuses! Though the red ranch looks nice too…Hope all is AOK with you and Frannie, tell her I said hi. Had to drop a line to a great friend and an even greater detective, you just gotta have faith in yourself.


	22. This is it Boys, This is War, so what

Thoroughly and heartily sick of this heat wave a great deal of the country seems to be suffering from, and ready for more seasonable weather…and as we always know, they aren't mine and never will be mine…

* * *

Chapter 22: This is it Boys, this is War so what are We Waiting for?

_Ah, life is simply divine, _Potter purred as she passed the door man of her building, instructing him that Franco would be following shortly with her purchases from the Magnificent Mile of shops down on pricey Michigan Avenue. _Good help is nearly impossible to find, _she admitted with a sigh before continuing. Even that thought, or the single digit temperatures outside, couldn't dull her exuberance as she snuggled into her brand new Hockley mink fur coat with a predatory grin, closing the distance to the private elevator to her penthouse condo, inserting her key to open the doors. _Guess I should contact Ellery and see if he's figured out our 'situation' doesn't exist, _she thought as her heels sunk into the plush carpeting, waiting for the metal to slide shut before she began her ascent, her Gianmarco Lorenzi pump tapping impatiently. The second the doors slid open to her living room, her grin instantly morphed into a scream of rage, replacing her earlier glee as if it never had been. Stepping out of the elevator, the redhead very deliberately took in what, only this morning, had been 475 pairs of Gianmarco Lorenzi, Giuseppe Zanotti, Jimmy Choo, and Pierre Hardy high heeled sandals that were now nothing more than an extremely expensive mountain of mutilated pieces strewn all over like headstones in a designer graveyard.

Seeing red, she nearly ripped the phone off of the wall when it wouldn't immediately come out of its cradle. "Of all the," Potter muttered through gritted teeth, lessening the pressure when her molars began to audibly grind as she called down to the front desk, demanding, "Who's been in my penthouse?!" A tell-tale squeak from the terrified clerk was the only response before the young man attempted to form something at least semi coherent, only managing a stuttering reply that was completely indistinguishable, and totally unacceptable, to the livid woman. The sound of the elevator door opening pulled her out of her murderous thoughts and forced her to admit that they were better directed at the person who was responsible for destroying her prized possessions, instead of a fresh faced kid, no matter how good it might feel at this particular moment. "Franco," Potter uttered in a deadly calm voice that the man knew didn't bode well for the person it was meant for, immediately understanding when he caught a glimpse of the graveyard of high heels that only this morning had been in his boss's closet.

"What are your instructions?" he asked simply after a few moments, not willing to anger his mistress any further.

"Hit him where it's going to hurt the most," she replied quietly, knowing the other man would have no problem following her train of thought, even without saying it out loud. So she wasn't surprised that he was gone when she turned around, having headed back out of the penthouse as quickly as he'd entered minutes before.

_If it's a war you want, dearling, it's a war you shall get, but you really have no idea who the hell you're messing with..._

* * *

_And here I would have bet my house this case was an open and shut slam dunk, at least I would if Molly hadn't taken it during the divorce, _Daniel Weatherbee, a short, slightly balding blonde thought bitterly with a sigh as he reviewed the information the anonymous tip had brought forward. The veteran considered it anonymous because, even though the man had technically given them a name, there was simply no way his name was _really_ 'Warren Peace,' no matter how quickly or naturally the man had answered the switch board's questions. Weatherbee was so convinced of that 'fact' that, when the tip had first come in, the veteran detective had obtained the recording of the man, simply because he'd thought there was a very good chance this entire thing was nothing more than a bored punk calling in a false tip just for kicks. After listening to how detailed the person was, however, Weatherbee knew there wasn't much of a hope to challenge the validity of it.

_It's almost __**too**__ accurate, as if the man's in on it somehow, _he thought as a knock on the door interrupted his train of thought, "Come in," he muttered, groaning as Officer Rollins's messy, full bottle blonde mane of hair appeared once the wood had swung open.

"Eric James is in Interrogation A," the young officer said before quickly ducking back out of the room. With a sigh, the detective pushed himself out of his seat, exiting the conference room and approaching the small area that held the eldest son of the owner of James and Sons Jewelry. He took a moment to compose himself in the observation room, watching as Eric waited, his vain preening in the mirror proving just how oblivious he was about the fact he had just become the prime suspect in the robbery of his father's store. _ And I am certainly not looking forward to the impending interview…_Weatherbee grumbled with a sigh_, Because if it turns out the man wasn't involved, I'm most certainly gonna look like a complete fool…__Along with turning this entire department on its ear..._he admitted as he left the observation room and entered the brightly lit interrogation instead.

An hour, and several very strategically phrased questions, later the veteran detective sat at the table, envisioning the fall out of this latest development. _And it's gonna be __**BIG,**_Weatherbee groused as he sat there, because not only had the man confessed once he was shown irrefutable proof that his father had secretly installed a hidden camera in the store that had caught his every move, including his watch and slight limp, but he'd also admitted to setting up the store clerk to take the fall for his crime while steadfastly refusing to go into about _why_ he'd committed it in the first place. _If he hadn't gotten greedy, the man would have been set for life,_ the veteran thought with a shake of his head, wondering just how he was going to break the news to the elder James, knowing from his interviews just how much his son's betrayal was going to affect him. He'd even mentioned how he was planning to leave the store to his boys, throwing in just how devastating the loss would be to that course of action if the police couldn't recover the missing jewels. _Now we just need to locate the stolen articles and return them to the owner, _the detective admitted, wishing he could have given the friendly man a different outcome, and almost hoping to be able to turn back the clock to before that call had come into the station.

Which only served to remind Weatherbee that absolutely none of this got him even the tiniest bit closer to figuring out exactly who the mysterious 'Warren Peace' _really _was_,_ causing him to blink in surprise when he realized he was still dying to know the identity of the man, even though it was looking less and less like he'd had anything to do with the actual robbery.

_Maybe it's a friend of Eric's, _Weatherbee mused, not willing to completely forget about the man, after all, if he'd told anyone about his plans it was quite likely that this other person might have had an attack of conscious and had to let someone know, but one look at Eric's face as he'd asked the question somehow made that notion seem awfully farfetched. _Guess I might never know..._he mused, wondering just why that idea bothered him so much.

* * *

Phoenix languidly stretched as his automatic curtain slid open exactly at seven AM, the floor to ceiling windows flooding the spacious room with sunlight. He heartily wished he hadn't imbibed quite so much the night before at the Pink Monkey, the pounding in his head an unneeded reminder of his failed attempt to get the current fiasco off his mind. _There's no way she's going to take me destroying her precious shoes lying down, _he admitted silently as he shielded his eyes with his right arm, wondering if the decision that had seemed so brilliant in the moment wasn't going to come back and bit him in the ass. _I probably should have just eliminated her, but finding out that she had __**indeed **__fabricated a 'situation' that needed my attention made me act rashly..._Knowing nothing would get solved by lying in bed all day, even if that's all the hung over man wanted to do, Phoenix rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself into a sitting position and making a beeline for his private, luxurious bath.

Immediately deciding he would try out his new gym today since he could no longer show his face at his old one, the dark haired man pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it in the direction of the hamper. _Just another thing to lay the blame at Pamela's feet, _Phoenix griped silently, the humiliation of her barging in still burning brightly as he thought about it, and realizing there were numerous reasons that had led him to make his rash decision.

For a split second, as he entered his corner shower, turning on the overhead spray, the dark haired man wished that the true source of his frustration was in front of him so he could take his anger out on the correct person. After all, it didn't sound like this Spencer guy had truly suffered before they'd dumped the body, but Phoenix knew first hand just how useless what ifs really were. Because if he started harping on that, then he would eventually have to get back to the fact that it was beyond irresponsible for his sister-in-law to bring the consultant half way across the country to drive a wedge in between them in the first place, which would inevitably lead to other things that Pamela just couldn't leave alone over the years. _And there is absolutely no place for those doubts in my life, _he admitted as he finished washing his hair and simply stood under the waterfall spray for a few minutes, letting the liquid massage the kinks out of his neck before shutting it off and reaching for a towel.

Five minutes later Phoenix had finished rubbing his hair dry, wrapping the cotton around his lean hips as he re-entered the bedroom, debating what he should wear today. _Decisions, decisions, _he grumbled heading toward his massive walk-in closet, freezing in his tracks the moment he opened the door, the unmistakable odor of gasoline assailing his nose. Hand hovering over the light switch, the man immediately backtracked to the nightstand, grabbing a flashlight and switching it on before returning to the doorway, sweeping the beam across the floor until he found the source of the stench. _"_That _bitch..._"he muttered as he took in the pile of his Giorgio Armani suits that had been systematically shredded in the far corner of the closet before being doused in gasoline just to add insult to injury. It took Phoenix almost ten minutes to find an outfit that wouldn't completely embarrass him in the presence of his most trusted men, which consisted of his nicest pair of workout pants and one of the only tops that had survived the massacre, before he brought the phone up to his ear after dialing a familiar number.

"Get your ass here _**now**_..."

* * *

Robby looked at the phone that had gone dead in his ear in absolute dread, mind racing as he tried desperately to figure out exactly what had put his boss in such a terrible mood, and hoping like hell it hadn't gotten back to the man that Spencer had simply disappeared off that street corner, seemingly into thin air. _Might be time to admit that the man might __**actually **__still be alive, _Robby thought, shaking his head at just what a hot mess the whole thing had become, dreading _**that**_ inevitable conversation with Phoenix, before he pushed the thought aside. The muscular man knew, when Phoenix used _that_ tone of voice time, was definitely of the essence, so he abandoned his half eaten breakfast before hustling out to his SUV. Without giving himself the luxury of letting it heat up, he started the engine and pulled into traffic, speeding toward Phoenix's penthouse, which was at least a twenty minute drive in light traffic. _The day's snarl ups are going to at least double the commute,_ Robby thought anxiously, wishing that the Earth would just open up and swallow him as he resisted the urge to beep his horn at the line of cars in front of him.

_Man, how am I gonna explain this to him in a way that doesn't end up with __**my **__disappearance? _He thought as he shifted in the driver's seat, wishing he'd at least salvaged his coffee before rushing out of his apartment. "My small, _cramped _apartment,"Robby muttered as the vehicles crept forward a few feet while he fiddled with the climate controls on the dash, "Must be nice to have an entire _**floor **_to yourself…" Blinking, he realized just how jaded his thoughts had become, the man wondered why, other than the most obvious reasons, why he'd stuck around this long. When the traffic once again stopped moving, Robby tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he sat in the jam, debating for a split second on just turning and heading out of town as fast as the vehicle would take him, because if his boss truly had learned about the botch, then there was an extremely slim chance that any of Phoenix's men would be walking out of this one alive. "Can't do that," he admitted softly, wondering just when he'd started talking to himself, _Probably about the same time I sold my soul to make a living, _Robby thought scornfully, before continuing his monologue, "I'd be lucky to make it 100 miles before either the Feds picked me up, or one of those two took me out."

_Oh well, it's definitely time to get things in order and make long term plans before the Feds make their move, Robby_ admitted once the traffic finally started moving, not even glancing over to see what had caused the other drivers to rubberneck. "Crap, whatever it was has cost me almost thirty five minutes," he grumbled, pushing down on the accelerator as much as he dared and zig zagging through the cars in an attempt to make up some much needed time. Even so, it was another fifteen minutes later when he pulled up in front of Phoenix's home, putting the SUV into park as he got out.. Glancing up, he saw his boss exit the building and make a beeline for the vehicle, not able to completely conceal his surprise at the other man's dress, but extremely thankful for the dark glasses hiding his eyes as he held open the door for the dark haired man. _This is going to be worse than I thought..._he grumbled as he got back into the driver's seat, for the first time wondering if his boss's wrath might _not_ have to do with the Spencer situation. _Is it possible that this doesn't have anything to do with him, but instead has something to do with the trouble brewing between brother and sister-in-law?_ Robby thought with a shudder, knowing that, if it was the case, it was only a matter of time before this fiasco caught the attention of the authorities, if it hadn't already.

_A situation that no one could ever have foreseen, _Robby admitted, trying to figure out just what had happened between the two to cause such a rift, because the duo had always been inseparable for as long as he'd known them, and he would have bet almost anything that they would always have remained that way. Phoenix's strict orders to take him "To Nordstrom's, and to step on it already," snapped Robby back to the situation at hand like few other things could, but did nothing to dispel the dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pulled into traffic.

* * *

Reviews are like finding out you need a new keyboard…_after_ typing an entire review response on the dead one without noticing it…


	23. I'm Trying hard to Reach out, but when I

Man, if possible, this week has been more stressful than the last two weeks combined…and I am beginning to wonder if everything is just out to get me.

* * *

Chapter 23: I'm Trying Hard to Reach out, but when I Tried to Speak out it Felt like no one could Hear Me

"Damn it, Snowball!" Juliet's muffled yell drifted out from beneath the pillow she had taken refuge under the last time the fur ball had pounced on her as she swept her arm in the general direction the white ball of fluff had taken off. She sleepily wondered if there indeed might be more than one way to skin _this _cat, because the entire time Shawn had been gone the feline had been interrupting Juliet's sleep almost every night. Nothing the junior detective had tried had been successful in keeping the fuzzy little ninja out of her bedroom, though the blonde had been unable to figure out exactly how the cat had managed to keep getting back into the space. Yawning from her spot, Juliet idly mused she should probably be at least a little bit grateful that the usually stand offish feline was paying attention to her, _Even if she __**is**__ trying to give me the migraine of the century,_ she silently griped, pulling the pillow more fully over her head as she closed her eyes, hell bent on getting at least a little bit more sleep before having to face the day. After a few minutes, however, Juliet abandoned the notion when she realized she had to use the bathroom, which meant she was going to have to get out of the warm bed. _No, not warm_, she thought, trying to force herself to focus, _**HOT**_, _the bed feels like it belongs in the seventh layer of hell.. _A fact that was proven when she attempted to move her trapped left leg, only to have it stick fast to the sheets.

Grumbling about it being way too early to be dealing with that darn cat as she tried to untangle herself from the covers, it took the blonde a few minutes to realize that, not only was her bed excessively warm, but her body was also clammy, bathed in a cold sweat...the kind that always seemed to be the result from a nightmare, even if the person couldn't recall having one upon waking. _It would certainly make sense_, Juliet thought sadly, as she finally succeeded in pulling herself into a sitting position, hugging the pillow to her tightly and wishing with all her heart that it was Shawn instead of a woefully inadequate feather filled imposter. After everything that had happened yesterday alone, beginning with being pulled away from her mountain of paperwork by the chief to help fill in on a few malicious mischief cases, to missing lunch and having to rely on a butt load of caffeine to keep her going through the end of the interviews that stretched into the evening, the woman's usually steadfast nerves were frazzled, _Not to mention Buzz tracking me down after my last interview wrapped up to let me know he'd gotten a message from Shawn..._Juliet thought irritably as she tossed the pillow aside and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom. It wasn't as though she didn't feel happiness at the young officer informing her that he'd received an email from her boyfriend, because she was glad about it, thrilled even, but the fact only managed to hammer home the fact that _**she**_ hadn't gotten one. A detail the blonde had been able to quickly verify with five minutes of relentlessly refreshing her inbox before heading home for the night to delivery pizza and a couple of incorrigible fur balls.

_One of which had better stop waking me up if she wants to keep that pretty little twitching tail of hers, _Juliet thought grumpily as she splashed some water on her face in a vain attempt to wake her sluggish brain up before heading back into the bedroom and grabbing her robe. Her peripheral vision just managed to catch the white tail she'd just been thinking about darting out of the open bedroom door, causing her to pause in her tracks. Eyebrows scrunched in thought, because she knew she'd firmly closed the door before going to bed last night, the blonde immediately hurried to her gun safe and made short work of the lock. Without stopping to grab socks or shoes, she readied herself for anything as she ventured out into the main part of the apartment, Beretta locked and loaded. Five minutes later, Juliet had swept the apartment, finding nothing out of the ordinary except the microwave clock in the kitchen, its digital readout proudly proclaiming the ungodly hour of not quite 5 AM, when she noticed both Snowball and Gelly Roll dart toward the front door, giving the heavy piece of steel their full attention.

Suppressing a sigh, the detective turned on the coffee machine while she ventured that direction, wondering what the two felines were staring at as she mourned the loss of the notion of getting any more sleep before starting her day. _Guess caffeine is going to be my best friend once again, _Juliet thought, more than a little bit hurt that Shawn had seemingly let Buzz know that he was alright, but hadn't bothered to do the same for her. Reaching the door, she noted that everything looked normal, and, that if it wasn't for the fact both cats were unnaturally still, she'd have thought nothing was amiss. Glancing out the peephole didn't reveal anything, either, so the blonde pulled open the door only to have her heart skip a beat when she glanced down at her welcome mat.

* * *

Gus shifted nervously from foot to foot on Mr. Spencer's welcome mat as he waited for the other man to answer his front door, eyebrow shooting up in question as he pondered over the purple Mini Cooper that he was parked next to in the man's driveway, and wondering if his best friend's father was even home. _Metallic purple, _Gus silently corrected himself as he stood on the porch, watching the odd car sparkle in the bright morning sunshine. _With pink furry car seat covers and red fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror..._the dark skinned man mused as he wondered if perhaps some sort of psychotic sorority sister had somehow managed to hijack the liaison's house, because at least that would explain the dual bumper stickers proudly displayed on the back, one lavender that read "_WARNING! I brake for unicorns, pixies, dragons, elves, and other things only I can see," _and its partner, a bright rainbow that simply said, "_My other ride is a unicorn."_

The pharmaceutical salesman wasn't sure how long he stood on Mr. Spencer's front porch, though it felt like hours, contemplating the Mini Cooper before he decided to walk around the back to see if he could find out if the man was home. Even after Gus had come up empty handed when he had headed first here, then the marina, and finally The Neighborhood Bar &amp; Grill yesterday once he'd left the police station, he had felt compelled to try to find the elder Spencer before heading into the office this morning. _Which means I need to check around the back and get moving if I don't want to be late, _Gus admitted, glancing at his watch as he made his way through the yard, finding the liaison sitting by the back door on one of his chairs, head in his hands. "Everything OK, Mr. Spencer?" he asked hesitantly, stopping in his tracks as he tried to decide what was different about the older man, but unable to read the expression when Henry finally looked up at him.

"Yeah, Gus," the liaison replied quietly, folding a piece of paper that the salesman had somehow missed in his hand before tucking it into his pocket.

He opened his mouth to let Shawn's father know about the email, fully prepared for the other man to react much like the head detective had yesterday, but, for some unknown reason, what came out was worlds away from what Gus had been planning to say. "What's up with the purple Mini Cooper in the driveway?"

Raising an eyebrow at the abrupt question, Henry took a moment before answering, pinching the bridge of his nose as he responded, because it was quite clear even talking about the car was causing him pain. "It's the only rental car they had left that my insurance would cover..."

"But, I thought you were driving the red sedan," Gus replied, wondering just how it was that Mr. Spencer ended up stuck with the monstrosity in the driveway, _At least Shawn isn't here to see it, _he thought with a small smirk, _But I just may need to take a picture and show him when he finally gets his butt home._

"I was, Gus, and I picked out a used Ford F250 from a satellite office in upstate California a few days ago," the liaison continued when his son's best friend didn't let the matter drop like he'd been vainly hoping. "But it's going to take another seven to ten days for it to get here, and I found out that the sedan couldn't be extended because it was already reserved for someone else, so for the next several days I have no choice but to drive _that_," he gestured for a moment before giving up in frustration, "_**Thing**_ until my truck arrives." The older man's tone clearly conveyed just how unhappy he was about the prospect of being seen in the metallic purple car, and Gus wagered a guess that Shawn's father would be staying home as much as possible for the near future.

Chuckling softly, Gus was about to reply when he glanced at his watch and realized that, if _he_ didn't get his rear in gear, he was going to be late for work, so with a muttered apology and farewell, he quickly rushed back to his Echo and headed for Central Coast Pharmaceuticals, belatedly remembering the reason that he'd gone over to Mr. Spencer's house in the first place. _Perfect, so now I am going to have to go back after work, and hope that car doesn't distract me from my mission this time..._

* * *

Henry stared after Gus's retreating back, wondering if the young man's decision to come over in the first place had anything to do with Shawn as he rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, because it certainly hadn't been to grill him about that eyesore in his driveway. Unconsciously, his hand went back to the pocket where he'd put the folded note, not quite sure how to make sense of it, or even how the hell his son had managed to arrange to have it tucked into his morning paper from wherever he was. Though, over the years, the liaison had learned it didn't pay to try and figure out _how _Shawn managed some of the more complicated things he did, recalling a certain incident involving hundreds of flamingo lawn decorations that had kept appearing on his property when he'd been in Florida and his son had most definitely been in Hawaii. Shaking off the memory, Henry pulled out the printed email that said, in Shawn's extremely roundabout way, he was alright but not able to let them know exactly where he was at the moment. _Some nonsense about protecting us, _he thought with a sigh, admitting that his son wasn't going to change anytime soon, no matter how many times he put himself in danger to protect others from the same threat. _Whether real or imagined,_ Henry admitted grimly, and the kid never considered just how stressful his process ended up being on the very people he was trying to keep safe.

The former detective did have to acknowledge that a great deal of the worry he'd been harboring since finding Shawn's iPhone in the possession of Nate Wesson had lessened upon discovering the surprise in his paper this morning. _But I'm his father, and as much as I appreciate knowing the kid is still breathing, especially since it was more than he'd done during some of the time he'd been gallivanting across the country, it's not going to change the fact that I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this mess..._he thought as he stood up from his seat and headed back into the house, mulling over what his next course of action should be.

* * *

I can't take credit for the flamingos reference present in this chapter, but I love s_c's story so much, and it seemed like something that Shawn would do, that I had to include a nod to it in my story…and if you haven't read it, then you are missing out on some laugh out loud literature. (though I'm not sure it was ever posted anywhere but Psych fic) I also can't take credit for Henry's new ride…that was 100% AIMG, and I loved it so much it had to be added to this.

Reviews are like trying to get everything for school sorted out: exciting, new and interesting…but incredibly frustrating when time and time again nothing can seem to go my way…


	24. Face to Face in a Classic Case

This week has been a struggle, and I am so glad to have made it through, but I still feel like I have so far to go to accomplish anything worthwhile...

On a brighter note, this is one of my favorite chapters, and part of my inspiration for this story-and a big thanks to my newest reviewer happy to know you're enjoying it so far :D

* * *

Chapter 24: Face to Face, in a Classic Case...Shadow box, He Tries to Double Cross and Needs to Chase.

**smooth operator - noun. **Someone who can handle multiple situations in a fashion that can only be described as "Awesome, spectacular, and, above all else, awesometacular."

_Geez, the man sure is a smooth operator,_ Charlie silently mused as he watched Shawn finish futzing with the old desktop from the doorway, not at all surprised when he turned slightly toward him as he spoke up a moment later, indicating he'd been well aware of the bartender's soundless entrance. "Seriously, Chucky, it's way past time to think about getting a new computer, I mean, _Windows 2000?" _he asked with a comical expression, "I haven't seen such an ancient operating system since I spent two weeks working as a video game developer in Boise..."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Shawn's remark, the bartender simply blinked a few times as he let the words roll off his back before mulling over the second part of the hazel eyed man's comment, the sentence that had suspiciously trailed off. "Two weeks as a video game developer?" he inquired, wondering if he'd ever manage to even start to scratch the surface of just what made his odd friend the way he was, but the slightly sheepish expression on the other man's face commanded his attention.

"Well...I didn't know that experience was _necessary_," Shawn replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before changing the subject, not wanting his old friend to start asking _too_ many questions about that particular job. "But check this out," he exclaimed, motioning the muscular man over to the computer screen, "I defragmented the hard drive, and installed some decent anti-virus software, so it will get you through for a while, though there's really nothing I can do about the lack of memory without going out and buying more RAM, which is going to affect the performance," he finished with a small shrug, turning toward Charlie.

"Thank you for doing what you could for it, Shawn, because you really didn't have to," the dark skinned man remarked, not expecting even that small measure of reassurance from his friend, because he'd known for quite some time that the computer was headed for the junk heap. He leaned against the door jamb as he continued. "So, if you're through your self appointed task of repairing my computer, what else is on your agenda for the evening?"

The consultant took a few moments to stretch his left arm in his borrowed, if rather ill fitting, green 7UP t shirt, being mindful not to reopen the healing bullet graze, the surrounding scrapes, or the gouge on his back as he spun the computer chair in a lazy circle, before answering. "Not quite sure, Chucky, since trying to track down the redhead with the limited resources I have at my disposal has led to a grand total of zilch," Shawn admitted softly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, "But I _might_ come out of the back room tonight, since it seems like whoever was hell-bent on killing me thinks they succeeded...So it seems pretty pointless to continue to hide," completely ignoring the incredulous look that the bartender shot his way that clearly conveyed his disagreement on 36 hours being an excessive amount of time to lay low.

_At least he's not trying to venture out and lure the woman, or her thugs, into the open...__**yet**__, _Charlie thought with a sigh, vowing to make a few phone calls tomorrow if they still hadn't discerned the redheaded woman's identity, wisely keeping his mouth shut and not bothering to share his opinion of what the injured man should be doing at the moment. _Doubt he'd listen to me anyway, _the muscular man thought with a sigh, knowing just how stubborn the other man could be, but he was more than happy to have Shawn around where he could keep an eye on him. "OK," he responded, turning back toward the bar area, "I am going to head up front and see how Jake is faring with the early afternoon crowd, but I'll catch you in a bit, man."

Shawn continued to spin as the other man left the room, trying to weigh his limited options as to how to identify the gun toting she-devil, but finding himself unable to truly focus on the task at hand, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why. By the time Jake ventured into the back office a few minutes later, the faux psychic had given up on sorting through all the jumbled information and had propped his feet on the scarred desk in front of him, staring at the scrolling pineapple screensaver like it held the answers to the universe. For the span of several heartbeats, the room was silent as neither man spoke, each occupied by his own thoughts, until Shawn remarked offhandedly, "How's Marcus doing today?" correctly guessing that Jake was watching the teen through the doorway.

"About the same, I guess," the gray haired man responded with a shrug, figuring it was about as accurate a description as he could get into right now, but Shawn's next comment caused him to whirl around in surprise.

"Really? Because he certainly doesn't look the least bit pleased that his buddy is in his brother's bar," the consultant observed, able to see the teen's image, along with the vast majority of the room, in the reflection of the computer screen, immediately noting the sour look the teen had, almost effectively masking the uneasiness on Marcus's face. _What exactly is he so worried about? _Shawn thought as he furrowed his brow, noticing that Tommy, whose name he'd overhead during a conversation yesterday...Or TBone, as he apparently insisted on being called, was loitering near the room's lone pool table, talking to another dark skinned teen, an earnest expression that just screamed false on the heavy set young man's features. "Why does Chucky even let that creep in here, anyway?" the hazel eyed man asked after a moment, though he was pretty sure he knew what the answer was going to be.

"He really doesn't want to," Jake began after a significant pause, "But he's not willing to completely ban him, because-"

"He's worried that Marcus will simply hang out with him elsewhere, and potentially get into even more trouble," Shawn finished with a sigh, before continuing cryptically, "Though, I don't think he's going to have to worry about it much longer..."

"Charlie knows letting that TBone in here goes against all his better judgment, but why do you think Marcus is going to do something to change that?" the older man inquired, turning back to the doorway to study the teens in the main area and trying to figure out what it was that Shawn was seeing, without even appearing to look. At a complete loss, Jake turned and started to ask another question, jumping in surprise when he came face to face with the injured man who'd approached without him noticing.

"Well," Shawn started simply, "Like I said, Marcus doesn't look pleased that his '_friend_,'" he emphasized the term as he studied the heavier set teen, "Came in here in the first place, and even less so that he's about to do something incredibly stupid," gesturing toward where Tommy had convinced the teen wearing glasses to play some pool.

Jake took the opportunity to study the young men, recognizing the expressions that were playing over Markie's face. "So you think this will anger him enough to break ties with TBone?" the bouncer asked slowly, trying to follow Shawn's train of thought.

"Maybe," the hazel eyed man admitted softly, feeling the sturdy doorframe against his shoulder blades. _Must have shifted backward a bit,_ he thought with a sigh, _Being hurt sucks. _Realizing that Jake had been giving him a strange look, Shawn snapped himself back to reality. "But it's more than just being angry," he insisted, "Because Marcus looks uneasy, and maybe even a little bit scared...Which makes me wonder why TBone would be dumb enough to hustle pool _here_ of all places." _Especially if Marcus's reaction is any indication of just how good the muscular teen is at it, _Shawn thought dryly, knowing if the lean teen wasn't comfortable with TBone playing pool in Charlie's place, he must be good enough to cause some trouble when it was all said and done. _Any way you slice it, this is bound to get ugly…_The consultant admitted as he identified several hustling techniques that Tommy immediately employed against his opponent, who'd obviously just been through a bad breakup judging from his appearance. _And that's before Chucky gets involved, because he's gonna hit the wall when he realizes what is going down here...the consultant_ mused with a sigh as he leaned a bit more against the rough wood. Once again it struck Shawn just how much the smaller teen reminded him of Gus in high school, but whether it was the young man's demeanor or the situation itself, the faux psychic couldn't quite pinpoint the source of his uneasy feeling. _That feeling's been with you since that alley, Kid,_ his father's voice insisted, forcing Shawn to admit that _something _had been plaguing him since he'd had his latest near death experience pinned to that dumpster.

The hazel eyed man was so lost in thought in his perusal of the scene before him, that he'd momentarily forgotten that the gray haired man was still next to him, studying him intently until Jake quietly spoke up, "Are you sure it's a hustle?" It wasn't so much that he disbelieved the extraordinary young man, as would have been the case not 48 hours before, but more that the bouncer was dreading the complications that were sure to arise when Charlie heard about this latest stunt. _Maybe this __**will**__ be the push Marcus needs to finally cut the ties with that hooligan once and for all, _Jake thought with a sigh. Just one time, he wished things would go easy for Charlie or his little brother, but he somehow figured that this was a situation that was going to get messy..._Just like the last half a dozen..._

Shawn's voice cut through the older man's musings when he eventually answered, "I know a hustle when I see one, Jake," never taking his eyes off the pool game, "They're obviously not betting any money on _this _game, because Tommy is employing a classic technique called sandbagging, to keep the other guy playing and give him false confidence. My guess is he'll offer to play the next game for a wager, knowing the offer will be readily accepted, and _that's _when he'll change tactics." When no reply was forthcoming, the consultant glanced to where the bouncer had been standing, correctly guessing that he'd made his way over to the bar, trying to gain Charlie's attention. _Not gonna make much of a difference, _Shawn thought with a small sigh, watching as TBone lost the first game and started a conversation with his opponent before they set up another one.

_If he's __**really**__ about to do something so underhanded to a clearly distraught young man, then I am gonna have to step in and make a move of my own, _he admitted, knowing there was a good chance his actions weren't going to make the tension between himself and Marcus better. He sent a silent apology Charlie's way, who was swamped up at the bar with Jake still trying to flag him down, as he correctly guessed the outcome of the extremely unmatched second game. _Crap, well, it's been awhile, but it's kinda like riding a bike...right? _Shawn fervently hoped as he slowly made his way over to where the two teens had broken into an argument, Tommy looking downright smug and the leaner teen, finally having realized that he'd been scammed, voice rising in volume as he went along.

"...preciate being hustled!" he growled, starting to draw the attention of the closest patrons, just as Shawn reached the young men, noting how Marcus had shrunk down in his seat a few tables over, trying to make himself less visible, no doubt knowing this was not about to end well. Upon hearing TBone's contrived reply, some nonsense about, "It's not bein' hustled when ya get outsmarted or out played," Shawn sighed and allowed himself a subtle eye roll before butting into the disagreement.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" He asked with a raised brow, ignoring the looks both of them directed at his battered face, noting that TBone studied him, eyes widening in recognition, while the other teen watched him warily, not quite sure what to make of his bruised appearance. _Dude I seriously need a vacation,_ Shawn thought as he carefully crossed his arms, waiting for the outburst to die down as both men launched into their differing versions of the truth.

"This hooligan _hustled _me!" The first young man insisted, shooting TBone a dark look.

"Some _people_ just can't handle _**losin'**_!" Tommy sneered back derisively, as if that simple statement explained it all.

Shooting the top of Marcus's head an aggravated look, which was obviously not noticed, Shawn wondered for a split second if it wouldn't be more sensible to let either Jake or Charlie handle this, but, upon noticing that the bar was still fairly crowded, he knew that his old friend already had his hands more than full taking care of actual _paying_ customers without having to worry about a two bit punk. _Which means I'm it, _he mused before cutting into the continued argument between the two young men, "_Alright! _You two are giving me a headache, not to mention drawing one hell of a crowd," Shawn muttered the last half of his comment under his breath. "There has to be a simple way to settle this," he continued, noting the frantic movements of Marcus who'd finally sat back up in his seat. _Hey, it's not like I __**want**__ to do this, Marcilus, _the consultant thought grimly, ignoring the teen's belated attempt to stop him from stepping in, _But you certainly didn't give me much of a choice by sitting there mute up until this point.._

"What'cha thinkin'?" TBone asked with a predatory grin, obviously assuming Shawn was about to offer to pay him off somehow, since it wouldn't be the first time someone reached into his wallet to make him go away quietly.

"Not what you are, _Tommy,_" the hazel eyed man retorted drolly, earning a nasty glare from the teen. "The _last _thing I would do is reward you for scamming people out of money by giving you _more_, especially when the target was such an easy mark as this young man here," Shawn continued, as if the entire idea was laughable, "Even more especially since I am flat broke," he muttered under his breath before his expression became deadpan. "No, I was thinking more along the lines of a wager of our own, one rick," Shawn clarified, deliberately using the wrong term and hearing Gus's automatic, though imaginary, correction, _"It's __**rack**__, Shawn!" _not missing the calculating look that crossed TBone's face at his , _No doubt he thinks this is going to be an easy win...might as well have some fun with it._

"What's in it fer me?" the heavy set teen immediately demanded, not immediately jumping at the chance of a quick victory unless there was something he could get his greedy hands on.

_I'll give you something to mull over, _Shawn thought derisively, knowing just the approach to take to get Tommy to play. "How about honor? If you wi-"

"You mean _**when**_ I win," the teen cut in snidely, falling easily into the trap. In his mind, the match was already over and done with, and he was unable to see any outcome other than with himself as the victor, especially against such a laughable opponent. _I can't wait to wipe the floor with 'im, though he can't have anything I want..._TBone debated for a moment, despite the fact he'd already decided he wanted to take the man across from him down a few pegs. With a small nod, he remarked, "Yeah, let's do this," grabbing the rack as he covered a snicker at the use of the wrong word, wanting to get this game underway before someone talked some sense into his victim. He was so intent on organizing the billiard balls that he never noticed Marcus skirt the growing crowd and make a beeline for the bar, where his brother was talking to Jake, a fierce expression on his face.

Shawn took a calming breath as he covertly scanned the group of people watching them with interest, and, ignoring the look the other dark skinned man continued to level on him, turned toward the cue rack. He let his mind wander for a minute as he studied the seven cue sticks sitting there, allowing the memories to surface. And just like that, he could hear the voice of the young woman who'd taught him what it meant to be a pool player, instead of just playing pool, "_It's not the shot you're hitting you need to think about, Shawnie, it's the one three strokes ahead..."_ Giving himself a mental shake, he realized he hadn't thought about Billie in years, but she'd showed him how to perfect a skill that had never failed to keep the tank on his Norton full, as well as pay for countless motel rooms, through all his years on the road when he didn't have any other source of income. Shawn assured himself he wasn't going to let that amazing woman down as he stayed busy by picking up a cue seemingly at random, and discreetly checking to make sure it would shoot straight, all the while keeping an eye on the trio at the bar, who looked ready to step in at a moment's notice.

He allowed TBone to break, wanting a moment to study the overly cocky teen close up as he produced a semi decent result, managing to put enough power behind the cue ball as he exploded into the shot, and, though his aim was off to the left a bit, a strategy more suited to a classic game of 8 ball, he ended up sinking the three ball in a corner pocket. _Not lining up the break is going to shoot him in the foot,_ Shawn thought as he watched the teen try to line up his next shot, intending to sink the 6 in the right side pocket, only to miss the needed angle by centimeters, sending the green ball across the table. _Gotta admit, though, the kid certainly has potential, _he mused as he waited for Tommy to back off the table, studying what shots he wanted to pursue. _Hmmmm, to go straight forward and make the three most obvious shots on the board...Or to start with the trickiest one there, setting up the possibility of running the table?_ Shawn wondered. In the end, it was the teen's muttered, "Hurry it up, _**old **__man, _I got things ta do…" that made up his mind, as Billie's other lesson reverberated through his mind, "_Remember, pool is a mind game: make your opponent think about you and his game is lost..."_

"As you wish..." Shawn said under his breath before raising his voice as he got into position, mindful not to hit his cast as he tested his bridge, "Nine in the left side pocket," he declared, ignoring TBone's disbelieving snort as he made the shot, banking the cue ball off the far end of the table and using the eleven to sink the colorfully striped nine ball, not missing the sudden silence that had fallen over the bar. Lining up his next shot, and noting the motion caused only a slight pull from his battered back, the hazel eyed consultant could feel the dark skinned teen's death glare boring into his back. _Oh yeah, I'm going to enjoy this, _Shawn thought as he announced which pocket he was going to sink the ten into. Five minutes, and an increasingly growing crowd later, all that stood between Shawn and victory was a difficult 8 ball shot, but only because of where TBone had decided to plant himself, a glowering expression on his face.

"That shot's impossible," the teen declared smugly, making no effort to move from his vantage point.

"Well, I guess you have nothing to worry about then, _do_ you?" Shawn responded dryly, moving between the large teen and the table before raising an eyebrow, "Excuse me, you're in my space..." When a snide, "It's a free country," followed by a chorus of angry boos from the onlookers were the only response to the consultant's remark, he shrugged with a muttered, "Suit yourself," before getting into position and bringing the cue stick back with all his might, striking TBone firmly in the solar plexus and driving the air out of the teen's lungs with a satisfying "oomph." While the winded youth quickly took a few hurried steps back to get out of the range of the 'madman with the cue stick,' Shawn studied his shot, noting he was going to have to get the cue ball around the six that TBone had abandoned and bank it off the edge of the table in order to have any hope of sinking that pesky, "Eight ball in the right side pocket," he murmured in the seemingly silent bar. With a small smile, the faux psychic used a Masse shot to spin the cue ball around the green obstruction, bouncing it off the left edge of the pocket before the white ball closed the distance to the eight, gently sending it falling into the waiting side pocket.

Shawn became aware of a rush of people talking amongst themselves, as well a decent amount of money changing hands once the game had finally finished, and vaguely wondered what kind of odds he'd been pulling as he turned to face Tommy. "I'm going to give you a piece of free advic-" the hazel eyed man stop mid word as the younger man lunged at him in a rage. Not quite able to resist the urge to roll his eyes, Shawn dodged easily to the side, letting TBone's momentum carry him forward, into the wall with a thud as the man's head connected with the heavy wooden paneling. _Well that was an epic failure..._he thought with a sigh…_I mean, __**REALLY?!**_ Noting that there were several people amid the onlookers ready to step in, as well as both Charlie and Jake, if the tussle got out of control, Shawn simply waited for the teen to shake off the self-inflicted blow as he turned toward him once again. This time when TBone brought his fist forward, the consultant grabbed a hold of the young man's wrist, twisting it around, up behind the man's shoulder blades and pinning him to the pool table before leaning forward and quietly saying, "You know, it's really not a good idea to ignore advice, especially when it's free, so remember this: you should _never_ underestimate your opponent, after all looks aren't everything," Shawn remarked softly, "But don't _**ever**_ overestimate yourself, because that's guaranteed to eventually land you in either jail...or the morgue," releasing the teen, he waited for TBone's next move, not at all surprised when the shaken man determinedly made his way toward the front door, unable to make eye contact with anyone in the crowd. "Best choice you've made all day, Tommy," Shawn muttered quietly, knowing that his body was going to be screaming at him later for the abuse he just put it through. _For now, I'm just thrilled that the adrenaline got me through,_ the consultant admitted, _Though if I hadn't managed to take Tommy by surprise, Chucky would've had to put me back together again. _Shawn was simply glad that everything had ended well, and he'd made it through mostly unscathed, when another movement near the exit caught his attention.

_Damn it, I seriously can't catch a break can I?_

* * *

Reviews are like getting rushed out of the door when you're half asleep—not something you expect…but you find yourself enjoying the routine nonetheless…;P


	25. War, huh, what is it good for? Absolute

None of them, with the exception of my original characters, belong to me. And, though it's not really that bad, I do warn that there is a somewhat sensitive theme in this chapter, so I feel a heads up is in order.

* * *

Chapter 25: War, huh, what is it Good for? Absolutely Nothing...Unless One just so Happens to be a Fed.

"You'd better be here to tell me that you've found her," Potter demanded hotly, pacing the back office of Second Time Around as she pinched the bridge of her nose, determinedly not looking at her chipping toenail polish while she awaited a response. When nothing but tense silence followed her words, Potter resisted the urge to send another piece of furniture flying as she turned and glared at Ricardo, raising one red eyebrow as she uttered, "_Well?"_

"Sorry, boss," the heavier set man replied, giving a small shrug, though inwardly he didn't like the way this whole thing was going down in the least little bit. "She's MIA. I checked her apartment, but her car is gone from her covered space and the doorman said he hasn't seen her all day, and neither have any of her neighbors." _First, I was conned into helping Franco clean up a dump truck load of mutilated shoes,_ Ricardo silently grumbled as he waited for his employer to lose the rest of her composure, _Then, I am forced to play private eye trying to find a grown woman who probably wised up and got the hell out of dodge before the shit hits the fan, what's next?_ He was barely able to suppress the groan building in his throat at Potter's next statement, which, not only was a sign she'd gone off the deep end, but also more than answered _exactly _what she expected his next move to be.

"Well, then, Ricardo, what are you still doing standing here? Get your ass back out there and _find_ her..." He wasted no time, hurrying past her and her impatiently tapping foot out the back door as he made a beeline for his SUV. He heartily hoped that, despite the icy wind swirling around him, it had retained most of its warmth from the short trip over from his apartment. With a long suffering sigh as he let himself into the vehicle, rubbing his hands together to generate what little heat he could, Ricardo wondered why he hadn't stayed in his home country of Bolivia with the rest of his family. Though he hadn't had to worry about the all too real threat of the overwhelming poverty or malnourishment in almost 20 years, he'd recently found himself being more and more homesick for the open spaces and sprawling mountain ranges from his youth. _Don't suppose there's much I can do about it now, _he thought as he let the semi warm air pour out of the SUV's vents, the _Feds would probably pick me up the minute I set foot in an airport, and, if I am wrong about the way this is all going, betraying Potter is a sure fire way to end up six feet under the ground._

It was several minutes before Ricardo felt that the interior was warm enough to make his next move, pulling out his cell phone and dialing Jordy, waiting for the other man to answer before speaking. "Yeah, she's still missing...I don't know, man, Potter must want a pedicure or something..." he paused while the reply came over the line, "Beats the hell outta me, but we need to find her, and I got nothin' but dead ends at her apartment, so we're gonna have to branch out with our search...Better let Franco know where we stand and, Jordy? Potter wants to know where she is, and I mean like _yesterday_," Ricardo finished, knowing both of the other men conducting the search would understand the urgency of that particular phrase. "Ok, give me a ring the moment you know anything...Good luck to you too, man," he snapped the phone shut as he put the SUV into gear, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was going to have _anything_ but good news to give his boss whenever they finally found out something. Two hours later that dread was more than confirmed when his cell phone rang, his muttered, "What?" as he put it to his ear a cover for the extreme anxiety he was suddenly feeling at Franco's words. "No, I'll make the call, but are you _absolutely _sure about this? Mhm, alright, let me call Potter and get further instructions, but you and I both know this isn't going to end well for _**any**_ of us."

He hit the call end button, immediately dialing his boss's number and not the least bit surprised when it was picked up before it even had a chance to ring once. "I have news..."

* * *

"Hey, Rodrigues," Agent Carl Sanchez said softly from his nondescript sedan, setting his binoculars on the dash in front of him, knowing the man on the other end of the earpiece should be able to hear him loud and clear, despite the physical distance between the two. "Check out Alinksky, heading your way fast...that woman is _definitely_ on the warpath about something," he remarked as he noted the rage clearly emanating off of the redhead, even at almost half a mile away, and trying to tamp down the feeling that whatever had the once inseparable pair at odds was going to be the break they needed to finally bring their empire to its knees. _But what in the world managed to drive a wedge between those two?_ The dark haired agent wondered as he listened to Julio Rodrigues's response.

"_Yes, she is, isn't she?_" the other man remarked from his vantage point down the street, watching as the suspect took her rage out on an antique bed table that was displayed just inside the window of Second Time Around, kicking it across the space as she stormed into the back, leaving the young clerk staring after her in equal parts terror and bewilderment._ "You know, I was beginning to think she wasn't going to come here to check on operations, since it's been at least two days from the last time any of us have seen some sort of activity-"_

"Yeah, the last time was that out of the blue warehouse fire down on South Avenue and E. 132nd Street," Carl interrupted as he watched the brunette set the newly righted table off to the side, before picking up the phone and dialing a number, _No doubt she's reporting Ms. Alinksky's behavior to her other boss, _he mused, knowing full well that the line was tapped and the crew in the truck would catch every word of the conversation, just waiting to find something to use to aid in getting the brother and sister-in-law behind bars where they belonged. "Wonder what they were trying to cover up with that blaze," the agent wondered aloud, knowing it had to have been something big if either one of the usually restrained bosses resorted to torching a building in order to cover something.

"_But so far local arson investigators have ruled it an accidental electrical fire,"_ Julio reminded the dark haired man firmly, not wanting the younger agent to get sidetracked by what could be nothing more than what it appeared, an accident. "_If there's something there indicating any sort of cover up, the boys will find it, but until then, we keep our cards close to our vest...One of them is going to make a mistake this time, and not a small one but something we can use to drive the nail into the coffin once and for all, I can __**feel**__ it,"_ the other man insisted, getting that antsy rush that always filled him when a big bust was about to go down. _"We're about to get the integral piece of the puzzle, and neither one of them is going to be able to get off, no matter how expensive their lawyers are, or how much clout either one has around town."_

Carl knew just how important this case was to Julio, even though he'd never opened up about it, and how the older man would do just about anything to see both of the suspects either behind the thickest steel bars America's prison system could offer. _Or six feet under the cold, hard ground_, Carl thought with a sigh, harboring a sinking suspicion that Rodrigues's preference leaned heavily toward the latter outcome, but, if even a smattering of the rumors that the others on the crew had been whispering held any truth, he really couldn't blame the man. Because, though Carl lacked any real details, he knew then that Potter and Phoenix were solely responsible for the death of the man's son, as well as the rest of his family. _It would certainly explain what has driven him to catch the pair, _he admitted as his cell phone went off, pulling him from his musings. "Agent Sanchez," Carl greeted, listening intently for a moment before he uttered a hurried, "I'm on my way," snapping the phone shut and letting Julio know, "Sounds like the last piece might have finally fallen into place..."

* * *

_What am I going to do with that man?_ Chief Vick idly wondered as she scanned her email again, realizing that, no matter what he was doing, her most unique consultant never failed to turn her police department on its ear, even with his father acting as liaison between the two. And as glad as she was for the contact from Mr. Spencer, letting her know he was alright and hoping to be home soon once he'd figured out exactly had happened _this _time, which as he put it was 'still up in the air,' the Santa Barbara Police Department Police Chief couldn't quite hold back a sigh as she debated what her options really were. _Or pretty much just throw in the towel and admit there __**are **__no options at this point, _Karen thought as she watched her officers go about day to day operations through the glass doors of her office, _And that there won't be until Mr. Spencer makes it back to the city, and only if he's finally able to figure out what has been happening._ The blonde saw Detective O'Hara make her way across the room, a handful of files in her arm, when a thought immediately occurred to her. The chief closed the distance to the door in four long strides, pulling it open, demanding, "O'Hara, my office," and heading back toward her desk while she was still speaking, leaving the startled detective staring after her for a few heartbeats before Juliet entered the room, shutting the glass behind her.

* * *

_I haven't done that in years, _Phoenix thought in satisfaction, _And I don't remember it being quite so...__**exhilarating**__. _ He let the memories wash over him as he showered at his second residence in Glenview, Illinois, slowly scrubbing off the remnants of exactly how he'd spent his day as he savored them, and grinning when he imagined the look on Pamela's face when she found out what he'd just done. _And it shouldn't take the woman all that long to hear about it through the grapevine, _the dark haired man thought in satisfaction, _After all, I left one hell of an obvious trail this time,_ Phoenix admitted, frowning when he thought of the exorbitant amount of clothing that the woman had mutilated, _And it serves her right for having the gall to enter my home and destroy my wardrobe..._In reality he was expecting his sister-in-law to either show up on his doorstep, desiring blood, or to call and lambast him, with both barrels, anytime now.

Though the man's darker appetites were usually kept on a tight leash, he couldn't resist occasionally indulging them and letting them come out to play, just enough to take the edge off, but he'd never used someone he knew in his everyday life before. The petite pedicurist had been such an easy target, immediately following him when he'd told her that Pamela was waiting for her, that Phoenix thought the whole ordeal was going to be a major disappointment. So he was pleasantly surprised the amount of fight the scrap of a woman had displayed when it finally occurred to her that her boss hadn't summoned her at all. Phoenix used a dark colored washcloth to clean out the deep scratches, marveling at just how fiercely she'd fought to the very end, his only real regret being that the encounter had been over with far too quickly, because once he'd gained the upper hand in their scuffle, the battle was all but over. _And I would have loved for it to have lasted long enough to __**really**__ make the bitch suffer, _the dark haired man grumbled, letting the rapidly cooling water wash over his body as he simply stood under the spray, knowing he was going to miss seeing the brunette all the time, and the revealing outfits she was known for wearing, but positive it was the fastest way to get back at his sister-in-law.

_Though, the rush I got with this encounter makes me think that maybe it's time to appoint someone to oversee operations here, if we can make it through this Spencer thing unscathed, and do some long needed traipsing around the country..._Phoenix mused, finally shutting off the overhead spray and stepping out of the shower, wrapping the plush, oversized cotton towel around his waist as he left the room to take in his reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror. He gathered up the clothing he'd gotten just for this morning's sport, the only time he ever bothered to clean up after himself, and deposited it all in a heavy black trash bag, along with the belt he'd used as an impromptu restraint, and tossed the Hefty bag in the corner. Heading over to his massive closet, Phoenix selected an outfit, as well as a small tube of antibiotic ointment from the supply cabinet, covering the five four inch long scratches that were peppered across his chest before bandaging them and pulling his undershirt carefully over his head.

Five minutes later the green eyed man was fully clothed and making a beeline for the door, grabbing the bag as he passed, purposefully strolling through his 5,000 square foot home, smirking as he cut through the gym that housed his full sized indoor pool on the way to his private incinerator. _Gotta admit,_ he silently thought, _It certainly does come in handy when I need to make things disappear without anyone ever knowing they were here in the first place, like anything that could potentially have DNA evidence on it. _He opened the door, tossing the black plastic bag in as far as it would go, not particularly concerned about the fact that he'd left plenty of his DNA on the pedicurist, even after severing her seemingly razor sharp nails once he was done with her. _It's gonna take a helluva a lot more than that to take me down, _Phoenix vowed with a malicious grin, debating which of his classic cars he was going to take out for a spin if Pamela didn't hurry up and get this confrontation over with already. Since it was a frigid 13 degrees outside, the half a dozen convertibles were firmly out of the running, as were the handful of Bentleys, _Hmmm, what about my '69 Chevy Corvette or '39 Lincoln Zephyr? _he mused as he made a quick stop in his study, pulling out a decanter of 12 year old scotch and pouring himself three fingers before softly swirling the amber liquid around in the glass. Phoenix took a small sip, savoring the unique taste as he rolled the liquor around in his mouth, swallowing while he stared out the window before repeating the process until the glass was empty.

Deciding that he'd waited long enough for his idiotic sister-in-law to come after him for permanently removing her private pedicurist from this earth, Phoenix headed toward his 30 stall garage, knowing immediately that something was amiss when he passed through the doorway to see the deserted guard station. Entering his garage at a dead run, the dark haired man felt his blood boil as he took in the deliberate destruction of what were his pride and joy, and vowing that he and Pamela were going to have this out _**now**_, and one of them was going to cease to breathe before this ordeal was over...and he'd be damned if it was going to be him.

* * *

Dun dun dun…so now that Potter and Phoenix are totally distracted, all my lovely readers can take a moment and leave me a review, you know you want to ;P xD And no, I don't have any shame, but that may have to do with all of the things I drop on my head while at work... *bows out*


	26. We've only got 86,400 Seconds in a Day

They're not mine…Nor will they ever be, so I just write all sorts of fun things about them…and whump my dear Shawn whenever the mood arises. This chapter does jump a bit, but I hope I did a good enough job of explaining what is going on as the sections progress; pretty much it was an experiment to see how to write the last section from dual perspectives, and I think I like the way it came out…(so if your first thought on the opening line is along the lines of WTF…you're probably not alone, but it should make sense fairly quickly)

* * *

Chapter 26: We've only got 86,400 Seconds in a day to either Turn it All around or to Throw it All away

_Well, so much for laying low, _Shawn grumbled from under his humongous borrowed hoodie as he watched the armed man pace back and forth across the small room, knowing that at least four of the remaining five perpetrators were just off to the left near the other people who'd been unfortunate enough to get stuck in the convenience store while it was being robbed. _And, if Marcus hadn't decided to sneak out of Charlie's bar after TBone,_ he thought grumpily as he felt the teen tense to his left, _Or I had just __**let**__ the idiot leave, instead of thinking it was even kinda, remotely a __**somewhat **__**GOOD**__ idea to follow him here, I wouldn't be in this situation..._Recalling the way he'd seen Marcus stealthily creep out the door behind the heavy set teen, Shawn had immediately found Jake as the bouncer entered the back room, briefly explaining the situation and asking the middle aged man if there was some sort of a jacket he could borrow in order to be able to bring the younger Parker brother back in some measure of comfort. Less than two minutes later, the faux psychic was quickly heading the same direction he figured Marcus had started out, wondering just what the teen was thinking, and hoping like hell that his attempt to teach TBone a lesson hadn't caused even more problems with Charlie's brother. _He's had enough issues with the kid already, _Shawn silently admitted, for even though his friend hadn't said anything, the hazel eyed man knew something was up just from watching the way the two men interacted, because at times it reminded him of the way he and his dad could be at such odds.

Not even certain he'd be able to locate the teen, Shawn hadn't been able to believe his eyes when he actually spotted Marcus's final destination up ahead, several blocks from the bar, a Circle K convenience store attached to a Shell Station that had definitely seen better days. Wondering just what had drawn the younger man _here_ of all places, he followed Marcus at a discreet distance, watching as he walked into the building and immediately seeing the reason for the trip as the woman from yesterday and her daughter walked past the front window. For a moment Shawn debated just heading back to Charlie's, after all the sole purpose of following Marcus in the first place was to make sure he wasn't upset about the confrontation after the pool game, but a movement from the parking lot caught his attention before he'd finished turning back the way he'd come. Something about the group of six men stopped the consultant in his tracks, propelling him quickly into the convenience store as he discreetly watched the men's movements, knowing that something was going to happen, and wanting to get out of there before it did.

_And to say that __**something**__ happened would be the understatement of the year, _Shawn griped from his spot on the floor as he covertly scanned the area again, remembering how just as he'd reached the teen in the store, intent on getting him and the two females out of the situation, the men had entered the store, fanning out and pulling weapons as they demanded the contents of the cash register. _Though it really didn't help matters that the terrified clerk pushed the silent alarm button, and then proceeded to stall until the cops showed up,_ he continued unnecessarily. He briefly thanked the anonymity the hood had given him, confident that the camera in the corner hadn't yet gotten a clear shot of his face, even as he wondered just how quickly the whole thing had gone to hell in a hand basket...

_I guess it was about the time I started trying to talk to the crazy guy with the gun, and attempting to figure out just what he's after_, Shawn finished with a sigh as he went back to watching the young man in front of them get more and more agitated. _Maybe reaching out and attempting to reason with the armed man wasn't the most __**sensible **__idea,_ the hazel eyed man admitted, knowing if the look Marcus had shot his way was any indication, the teen thought he was completely off his rocker. _And after the way the last three days have gone, I'm not sure that I can really blame Marcilus for his observation…It's not like I got anywhere with the thug anyway, _he mused with a sigh as he shifted positions, ignoring the look the armed man shot his way,_ All he did was tell me to shut up or he'd let me know what the muzzle of his gun tasted like. And that was just the __**first **__time I opened my mouth,_ Shawn silently griped, figuring that the teen on his left was thinking about doing something stupid when he felt Marcus tense once again, only to flinch when the armed man turned in his direction, waving his Hi Point 9mm menacingly.

_Why is it always the unstable ones that manage to get easy access to dangerous weapons? _Shawn asked himself humorlessly, _Most definitely a throwaway to boot…_That observation brought the consultant no comfort, since he knew this situation was rapidly spiraling from drastically dangerous to downright deadly. So he immediately started to sort through his scant resources, and even fewer options, to come up with something that might get everyone out of this danger without any casualties. _I just wish I could've figured if the men were after anything specific in the first place, because who robs a convenience store in __**this **__neighborhood expecting to get any money? _He asked, mulling over the fact that, even though the clerk had begun stalling immediately, the men had spent little to no time attempting to obtain anything from the ancient cash register before rounding everyone up. Chastising himself for getting off on a tangent at a time like this, Shawn filed all the details away to be dealt with later, shook himself mentally, and forced his mind back to the task at hand. The hazel eyed man knew that, since talking hadn't worked, he was left with two extremely risky options to resolve this situation. The first, and most dangerous, was doing nothing and hope no one got killed, a likelihood that was looking less and less possible by the second if the armed man's body language could be believed...Or, second, doing _whatever_ it took to get these people out of here alive. He allowed himself a split second for one additional thought about Marcus deciding he just _had _to rush out of the bar, end up down here and ultimately put _**both**_ of them in that position in the first place, Shawn made up his mind. Without taking another second to acknowledge the complete insanity of his half-baked plan, if one could even stretch the definition so far as to call it that, Shawn lunged forward.

* * *

Henry shook his head as the Mini Cooper lurched forward down the bumpy road, resolutely ignoring both the infernal screeching coming out of the vehicle's broken sound system and the multitude of looks the racket was attracting as he neared his destination. Pulling the monstrosity next to his son's death trap, Henry killed the engine and then practically ripped the key out of the ignition when the discordant notes of "Barbie Girl" didn't immediately stop polluting the interior of his rental, cursing under his breath as he wondered if his truck was ever going to arrive at Giggity Motors. Though he'd told himself over and over again that hell would freeze over before he'd be willing to be seen around town in what amounted to a metallic purple sardine can on wheels, the first day of sheer boredom, as well as Endora's constant visits, had driven the liaison from his home, and he desperately needed to do _something_ to counteract the feeling that he was helpless in this situation.

It wasn't as though he didn't appreciate the stocky nurse's attentions, because, in a small way at least, it was kind of refreshing to not have to chase after a woman every time, but all in all the woman's attitude simply reminded him a little bit _too_ much of the blonde that had stalked him up to the Ojai resort. _Chelsea,_ Henry thought with a shudder, automatically glancing over his shoulder to make sure the crazy twenty something wasn't lurking around, even though he hadn't seen her since the afternoon that they'd chased Jerry Kincaid. Without giving himself another second to question the soundness of his plan, the liaison got out of the Mini Cooper and approached the empty surf shop, pulling the squishy pineapple key ring that Shawn had left at his house out of his jacket pocket, wondering which of the two unmarked keys would open the front door, currently blocked by crime scene tape.

He settled on trying the last one on the ring first, tearing the yellow caution tape off of the doorframe as he inserted the key into the lock, the distinct click as the deadbolt slid back into the heavy metal sounding loud in the quiet afternoon. Though he'd been here the night the Santa Barbara Police Department had gone over the scene, looking for any evidence, Henry still took a moment to compose himself before pushing open the door, his eyes immediately settling on the broken end table that littered the entryway. After a moment of trying to unsuccessfully suppress the images that assaulted him, the liaison allowed his mind to sort through the crime scene or, at least what he imagined happened that night. _Shawn must have entered, and, once the door slid shut behind him, realized two things: first,_ Henry ticked off, knowing just how unsettling the feeling could be,_ he wasn't alone in his home, and second, he'd just cut off his only immediate escape route._

Eyes falling on his son's discarded helmet, the liaison recalled Juliet pointing it out that night, but knew Shawn wouldn't have just given up his most obvious means of defense. _The thug must have advanced on him, and Shawn tried to hit him with it, but the other man gained the upper hand, causing my son to lose his grip on the helmet, though he must have used the wall to push off of to send them both into the next room, _Henry reasoned as he saw what could have been faint footprints on the wall, that would have caused the fighters to go crashing into the living room furniture. Ignoring the thin layer of fingerprint dust, as well as the stained table, for the moment, he deduced that the fall would have probably been enough for Shawn to attempt to get away, only to be stopped by his attacker, sending him into the end table as both crashed to the floor. Even though he'd only been in the surf shop a few times since his son had moved in, Henry recalled a small ceramic pineapple that had been sitting on the wooden piece of furniture, but noticed that there weren't any shards near the splintered table, but there were plenty strewn across the other half of the room.

_So he used it to slow his assailant down, resulting in the blood all over the other half of the room, and made a beeline for the back door, only to get taken down by the guy hiding out back, _he finished, not needing to go that direction to be able to figure out how the altercation had ended..._And now he's missing again, though he did let us know that he's alive, and apparently OK,_ Henry thought a bit sadly, extremely grateful that Karen had called him a little bit ago to let him know she and Buzz had gotten an email from Shawn. And that she'd also talked to Juliet, the junior detective informing her that he'd let her know as well, though the Chief of Police hadn't elaborated on exactly how. In truth, it had been the blonde's call that had spurred him out of the house, needing to do _something_ to stop his mind from racing over all the possibilities that had been plaguing him for the last several days.

Shaking himself out of his musings, Henry checked Shawn's closet, surprised to actually find both a broom and a dustpan, as well as a vacuum cleaner and a mop, tucked behind the few jackets he had stashed there, because his son really wasn't much of a planner. Pulling out all but the mop, the liaison set about righting the place as best as he could, propping open the back door so he could easily carry the larger pieces of furniture to the dumpster before tackling the rest of the mess. After two trips of clearing up the remnants of the end table, the man heard the sound of a car door slamming, causing him to stop in his tracks, arms still laden with wood as he listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. A few seconds later the front door was pushed open, a familiar head of blonde hair appearing in the entryway, a questioning eyebrow raise her greeting when she spotted her boyfriend's father slightly farther into the room. "So you're the menace with the blaring radio, Henry?" she asked after a moment, not sure she wanted to know the story behind the Mini Cooper parked outside.

"It's a long story," he replied, turning toward the back door to rid himself of his current armload of wood, "But yes, the racket people were complaining about was quite likely me..." the older man's voice trailed off as he headed out of the building, returning a minute later to find Juliet had swept the remaining pieces of the table into the center of the room, a commiserating expression on her face. "You planning on staying for a while, Juliet?"

"My lunch break is almost over with," she admitted softly, "But Carlton knows I came to check out the noise complaint on my way back to the station, so I do have a few minutes that I can devote to helping out before I have to head back to work."

"Detective Lassiter getting on your nerves, huh?" Henry correctly guessed, causing the junior detective to do a double take at just how similar father and son could be as she absentmindedly fiddled with something on her wrist. The older man noticed the movement immediately, taking a moment to study the bracelet on the blonde's wrist, certain he'd never seen it before, but immediately recognizing the shape of a few of the little silver charms hanging off of it. "When did my son give you that?" he casually asked, as he studied Juliet's face.

"I found a stuffed animal on my welcome mat early this morning," she responded slowly, "Both of my cats were staring at the door, and when I opened it to investigate, there was a small white cat sitting on my doorstep, with the charm bracelet around its neck and a note tucked into the bracelet." For a second she simply studied the piece of jewelry, admiring the dangling charms that ranged from Alice in Wonderland to pineapple, with a few others thrown in for good measure.

"Is that a…_**LEGO**_?" Henry wondered aloud, causing his son's girlfriend to smile as she gently fingered the tiny piece.

"Yes, yes it is," Juliet answered, debating for a few seconds whether or not to go into the story for the charm and finally settling on leaving it for Shawn to tell if he wanted to. "You want any help getting the living room cleaned up?" she asked, changing the subject.

"No, I've got it under control," he replied, curious as to what exactly the meaning behind the LEGO was, but resolving to ask his son when he got his butt home, "Most of the larger pieces have been thrown in the dumpster out back, and if you take much longer, Lassiter is going to come looking for you, you know." As if on cue, the blonde's Blackberry rang, a quick glance at the caller ID enough to cause Juliet to give Henry a small wave before answering it as she pulled the door open, letting in the afternoon sunshine and leaving the liaison to his task.

* * *

_Chaz is __**SOOO**__ gonna kill me for this…_

Marcus watched in horror as Shawn surged forward and suddenly put himself bodily between the rapidly unraveling gunman and the terrified people along the wall, knowing if anything happened to the already injured man, it would be completely his fault. He couldn't even begin to imagine what would have possessed the hazel eyed man to put himself in danger to protect a bunch of people he'd never even met before, or the one person he had met, that had gone out of his way to be anything _but_ nice to him..._And the fact neither of us would have been here in the first place if I hadn't left the bar in a huff after that scene with TBone, _Marcus admitted silently, knowing the only reason he'd ended up here was because he'd seen Angelica from across the street. _Or else I might have tracked TBone down to talk to him…_Pushing the thought aside for the moment, the teen realized in amazement that he didn't want to watch Shawn get hurt, which was most likely going to be the outcome, even though he'd defended himself so well earlier that afternoon. His logical mind told him not to watch, but he found he was not able to tear his eyes away from the other man, even knowing it was quite likely he was about to see a train wreck. _Chaz is __**never **__gonna forgive me for this, in fact he's _**TOTALLY** _gonna kill me..._

Everyone who'd noticed the consultant's movement stood transfixed as Shawn reached the armed man directly in front of him, taking him by surprise as he hit the pressure point on the man's wrist with the side of his hand before the startled man could fire, causing the gun to go skittering across the floor and under one of the nearby shelves. Glancing around, Shawn vaguely realized that his hood had slipped down, but he was more concerned about trying to get a bead on the other five gunmen before they could open fire on the hostages, causing a bloodbath, than he was about possibly being recognized by people who wanted him dead. Making an immediate decision when he only saw one of them on the other side of the space, back turned toward them, the hazel eyed man snatched the fire extinguisher from its holder on the wall, and, ignoring the protests of his sore muscles, used it to strike the now gun-less thug in the face before ducking into the nearest aisle.

_Seriously, Kid, you'd better have one helluva plan to get everyone out of this,_ his inner voice nagged at him, causing Shawn to mutter almost inaudibly, "I'm still working that out, Dad, so if you don't have anything helpful to add then zip it..." as he studied his surroundings, stomach rumbling when he realized he was in the snack aisle.

The second that Shawn disappeared around the end cap Marcus immediately became aware that Angelica and the other hostages were staring at him expectantly, as if they were hoping he'd have an answer on how to get out of this nightmare simply because he'd been sitting next to the consultant. _The man who'd just managed to take down an armed man with a fire extinguisher, of all things…_Realizing that, if he ever wanted a chance to try and redeem himself for some of the stunts he'd pulled over the years, this was it, Marcus put a finger to his lips and made a small motion for the others to stay low and follow him as he headed for the high counter that housed the cash register, already knowing that getting out of the building meant venturing straight _into_ danger. _And that's not going to help the situation at all, _he silently mused as the small group succeeded in reaching the temporary safe haven, when a strange sound drifted through the space. The teen quickly tried to locate where the noise had come from, freezing in fear when he caught the reflection in one of the curved mirrors on the ceiling.

* * *

Trying to get his mind off of just how hungry seeing the assortment of Corn Nuts was making him, Shawn crept soundlessly down the aisle, hoping like hell the people he'd left against the wall had gone for some sort of cover, since he hadn't been willing to risk accidentally alerting the other gunmen by making any additional noise. _Where in the world __**are**__ the other five goons? _Shawn wondered as he peered around an end cap, pulling out the pin on the fire extinguisher he still held in his hand and holding the hose at the ready, cursing inwardly as he came face to face with the business end of a Glock. _Well there's Goon Numero Uno, _he mused morbidly, noting the shocked look on the other man's face as he opened his mouth, _Guess I still had the element of surprise on my side, _Shawn admitted as he doused the armed man with the thick foam from his impromptu weapon.

_Man, I'm beginning to appreciate these things more and more,_ he thought with a small smile as his adversary brought up both hands to ward off the worst of the spray before lunging forward under the white cloud, using enough force to knock the red extinguisher to the floor with a deafening clang. _Well, it's safe to assume I've officially lost __**that**__ advantage, _Shawn griped as he noticed the approach of two more goons in one of the corner mirrors as he dodged away from the effectively blinded man in front of him, ducking behind a display and heading down another aisle, his inner voice piping up again.

_Damn it, Kid, use what's around you, because there are potential weapons everywhere..._the injured man snagged a 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew, immediately imagining his father's take on that choice, _What, Shawn, you planning to send them into a sugar coma?_ _Of all the thing-_ Sparing a second to give the little voice that sounded suspiciously like his father, whose imaginary criticism was just as grating as the real thing, a firm '_invitation to shut it,'_ as Lassie would put it, he started to shake up the plastic bottle. He loosened the cap ever so slightly, ignoring the soda that was escaping as he almost pitied the next person unlucky enough to cross him, which just happened to be the second he rounded the next blind corner in the store. Immediately back pedaling into the aisle, Shawn got ready for the man to come around the end cap, loosening the top completely just as a dark haired head appeared, right into the path of first the plastic cap and then the carbonated spray. _Think, Shawn, think…There has to be a way out of this, even if it's __**NOT**__ one that you want,_ he thought, sorting through every possible option and rejecting all but one.

Using the momentary distraction to disarm the man, this time bringing the weapon into his own hands, he checked to make sure the safety was off of the pistol, because Shawn had no illusions this was going to end peacefully, and he had no choice but to go on the offensive..._And that means heading back into full view of the main camera…with a gun, no less,_ he thought with a sigh.

* * *

_What the...Is that a __**gun**__ in his hands?! _Marcus thought, _Does he even know how to __**use **__that?! _His eyes widened as he saw one of the armed men creeping up behind Shawn, who'd acquired the weapon somewhere along the way, from an adjoining aisle. He was frantically trying to figure out how he could warn the sweatshirt clad man about the imminent danger when the object of his thoughts spun on his heels, firing off a quick round that caused all of the hiding hostages to cover their heads. When the dark skinned teen finally glanced back up, Shawn could no longer be seen in the mirror, and the other man was sitting on the ground, clutching his dominant arm. _Guess he __**does**__ know how__**…**_Breathing a sigh of relief, Marcus allowed himself a second to file away this new piece of information as he searched for another reflection to tell him what was transpiring in the main area, only to physically cover Angelica and her terrified daughter when three shots, fired in rapid succession, sounded in the space. _Fuck, not knowing where they're coming from is __**way**__ worse than being able to see what's goin' on..._Marcus admitted as he wondered if any second a bullet would tear through one of them, or if Shawn was lying bleeding somewhere in this store, maybe dying. Even as the teen was debating the wisdom of trying to move out from cover to find the hazel eyed man, two final shots rang out as a tense silence fell over the small group.

* * *

After making sure the final thug was no longer a viable threat, Shawn carefully approached the cash registers, reasoning that it was the most likely place for the frightened people to have taken refuge as his mind replayed the last few minutes, as hard as they were to comprehend. He hadn't ventured past the end cap, after reluctantly obtaining the Beretta, when a reflection from the security camera he'd been so hell bent on avoiding caught his attention, causing him to spin around and fire, neutralizing the threat that had been creeping up behind him and quickly ducking around the corner. _Only to immediately run into two more thugs a few aisles over,_ Shawn thought with a sigh because his only warning had been the sudden shower of Cheerios from a badly placed shot that had torn through a box of cereal on the shelf above his head before he'd reacted with two additional shots. _I knew it wouldn't be long until the last two guys came rushing to the rescue,_ he mused as he closed the distance to the counter, wiping down the 'borrowed' Beretta with the cuff of his sweatshirt as he admitted he might have pushed his healing body just a bit too far as he ignored the multitude of sore muscles, _And I was right because both of them came rushing around the corner seconds later._..

Shawn flipped on the safety on the handgun, giving the camera on the ceiling a quick look as he hurried out of the frame and finally reached the registers. Using the soft cotton, the hazel eyed man set the Beretta on the glass, taking an automatic step back when a movement from the other side caught his attention. When Marcus's head appeared a second later, eyes wary and mop at the ready, Shawn merely raised an eyebrow before commenting, "A mop? Really? You do realize that there is a baseball bat not two feet away, right?"

Every eye went searching for the potential weapon that they'd managed to miss, but it was Marcus that was the first to speak up, "How did you-"

"Don't ask," Shawn insisted, trying to motion with his head to hurry the teen toward the back door, only to have a few lone Cheerios fall from his hair and hit the floor.

"Are those…" Marcus asked, only to trail off at the look the hazel eyed man shot him, giving the group an awkward smile while making his way toward the door.

"You know Chucky's going to kill us for sneaking out, right?" Shawn stressed, pulling his hood back up and finally getting the teen moving toward the back door as he could hear the additional sirens get louder in the distance.

"What makes you think he's going to find out about this?" Marcus asked doubtfully, hurrying after the injured man, as he tried to process just what had happened.

"It's gonna be _kinda_ hard to keep it from him," Shawn insisted, "Considering he's right outside…" backtracking to grab the stunned teen and propel him through the back door and out into the alley.

* * *

Review are like trying to write a story—nerve wracking and exciting all at the same time, and both cause me to reach for my notebook at the least opportune times…


	27. It's Wrapped up in a Story of Murky

I love, love, love the song this chapter's title came from…and I had to go through quite a few obstacles to get the music for it, but it was completely worth it in the end. :3 :3 :3 I still don't own any of the characters…OR the theme song for that matter, but love writing about them, though not knowing what the majority of my readers are thinking is trying at the best of times.

* * *

Chapter 27: It's Wrapped up in a Story of Murky Contradiction...

Watching as the wounded suspects were led out of the building one after another, Detective Daniel Weatherbee turned toward one of the officers that was in the second group to respond to the gunshots and demanded, "What in the name of Sam Hill happened in there?!" completely unwilling to believe that not a single person could fill in the blanks as to what in the world had gone down in that convenience store. Yes, being the first responding unit, he'd physically been on the scene and had heard the shots being fired, as well as being able to see the evidence with his own eyes of the outcome, but the pinpoint precision of the wounds that the hardened veteran was seeing simply didn't seem possible with that kind of rapid fire discharge of a weapon. _After all, the whole thing went down in less than 5 minutes..._ he insisted, glancing at his watch to make sure it was keeping accurate time.

"We're still trying to sort it all out sir…" the rookie responded hesitantly, "But every single person who's been interviewed so far is telling pretty much the same story," Officer Rollins finished, fiddling with his notepad nervously as he tried not to fidget under the intensity of the other man's gaze.

"And that story _**is**_?!" Weatherbee prompted impatiently, tapping his foot in irritation and hugging his arms against his chest to ward off the biting wind, not at all pleased with having to drag answers out of his subordinate. _I should have at least brought an adequate jacket if I knew I was going to be dealing with this today…_

The officer was silent for several seconds, "I'm not really sure," he finally hedged, his body language plainly screaming that the young man _did_ know at least _part _of what was going on, but for whatever reason didn't want to tell the seasoned detective. "But we're trying to get it sorted out as soon as possible, Sir," Rollins insisted as he stood under the softly falling flurries.

_What, did Rollins's partner, Officer Collins, screw up procedure again?_ Daniel wondered with a groan, recalling just how much of a nightmare it had been the _last_ time the rookie had made a mistake...And the resulting headache that had taken root in the detective's head had merely been from the additional paperwork the detective had been forced to fill out. _That doesn't_ _even __**begin **__to describe the added workload I had to deal with because of the fallout of that one…_Rubbing his tired eyes, the veteran wished he hadn't quite smoking, desperately craving a drag of nicotine to get through this latest fiasco. _Well, I'm pretty sure that there's __**one**__ way to get to the bottom of this..._he figured before demanding, "Does this ancient place at least have a security camera?"

"Yes..." the young man answered hesitantly, clearly reluctant to divulge even that much information. _This is gonna be worse than I thought, _the detective predicted grimly.

"Figure out how the footage is kept and get it here ASAP..." He demanded, reasoning there had to be a simple, logical explanation to everything that had transpired on that video. _And just maybe I will manage to figure out what exactly has Rollins so shaken up..._

* * *

"That was amazing," Charlie exclaimed in awe, his annoyance at the pair forgotten once he saw the two men safely make it out of the building and reach his location directly across the street from the back corner of the convenience store. After giving Jake a look that promised they'd talk about this later, the former medic had taken off after the pair, only to find himself at a loss of what to do when he'd reached the place where Markie, followed closely by Spencer, had disappeared. He'd been debating on whether or not to follow them inside, wondering if his presence would only make matters more tense, when he'd heard the first sirens approaching, causing him to venture closer to search for answers. By doing so, he'd managed to see the tail end of the confrontation with the armed men that had been surrounding the occupants of the room from an exterior window. "Where did you learn to do that?!" he demanded, not completely sure if he was referring what had to have been the faux psychic's deliberate leap into danger or the startling aftermath, which was the part he'd actually witnessed, he immediately zeroed in on Shawn's uncomfortable demeanor as he attempted to brush the whole thing off while hurrying past. _Well, that's interesting..._he mused, never having discovered anything that had made other man unsettled before.

"Chucky, we _really_ need to get outta here, and the sooner the better," Shawn remarked without slowing down, only to notice that Marcus had stopped next to his brother. Suppressing a long suffering sigh, the private detective's pace came to a crawl, as he called over his shoulder trying to diffuse Charlie's question. "Man, I have no idea what you're talking about...I was just trying to avoid getting shot," was the mumbled response, his voice lacking any semblance of conviction as the two brothers had to struggle to hear his words.

"Bull-Shit," Charlie shot back, causing his friend to turn around and give him a steady glare, hazel eyes flashing, "There's no way that was accidental, dude, don't forget I was _in_ the Army for nearly ten years and have seen my share of combat," daring the other man to contradict his statement.

"Yeah, well, if you really want to know, then let's get the hell out of _here_ before any _**more **_police show up," Shawn hissed, hoping the other men would start to move in the right direction before their presence was noticed. Almost on cue, the sirens could be heard growing louder in the background, causing Shawn to pull his hood a little tighter around his face as he ducked just a bit deeper into the late afternoon shadows, recalling the last time, almost 4 weeks ago now, that he'd been trying to avoid the authorities, heart aching as he fervently wished he had the ability to just go home, all the while knowing he had to finish this first. _I just hope like hell that I can finally find the one piece I need to connect all the dots...and the sooner I do that, the better..._

Marcus, who'd been silent through this entire exchange, suddenly piped up in a hesitant voice as the brothers' long strides easily caught up to the injured man's pace, "So what do we do now?"

While Shawn merely shrugged as they trekked back toward the bar, Charlie answered his brother's question, "I'm going to get to the bottom of what's going on here, by any means possible." Five minutes later the trio reached the entrance, noticing once they entered the building how the remaining patrons were avidly watching something on the establishment's lone television set. "Now what," the bartender muttered quietly under his breath, not sure he could handle any more surprises today. _Shawn hustling pool, scaring the ever lovin' crap outta TBone, only to have him and Marcus run off and finally watching the man handle the gun that way is my limit for surprises for the __**decade**__, _he thought, realizing that Spencer was staring at the breaking news cast with a tense, yet unreadable, expression. "What's wrong?" Charlie demanded, and, figuring the answer might be enough to for him to need it, he sat at one of the tables while the other man kept his hands stuffed into the pockets of his borrowed hoodie.

Shawn couldn't believe his eyes as he silently wondered if it could really be that easy and his response, when it finally did come, was honestly the last thing the former medic was expecting as the hazel eyed man, never taking his eyes off the screen, remarked softly, "Well, Chucky, it looks like you won't have to spend any more time or effort getting to the bottom of what's going on, because _that's _the woman that tried to kill me..."

* * *

_I'm going to shoot him...No, no, too traceable..._

_I could run him over, claiming he fell under the wheel...But that would harm my car..._

_What if I poisoned him? No, that's a woman's tactic..._

_Hmmm, I might be able to-no, that's no good, either..._

"Aha!" He decided with satisfaction, a wide grin crossing his features, "I've got it, I'll t-"

"Ummm, excuse me, sir?" Buzz's tentative question to the suit clad legs sticking out from the head detective's desk was met with a loud bang, followed by a string of indistinguishable curses from the lanky man before the livid reply drifted into the bullpen.

"_**WHAT?!" **_Thankfully the station was mostly deserted during the lunch hour, but the few holdouts glanced over at the confrontation, pitying the tall officer as they recognized the other man's tone.

"Is everything alright, Detective Lassiter?" Buzz persisted, holding the files in front of him until his superior's head appeared.

"McNab, I sincerely hope you didn't come all the way over here to _ask_ if I was _**alright**_..." Lassiter remarked, eyes narrowing when he saw the expression on the young officer's face. "_What. Is. It?"_

"A 459 was just called in and the chief wants you and Detective O'Hara to check it out," the young officer answered, wondering just what had put the head detective in such a foul mood _this _time, and wishing that the blonde had returned from her lunch before he'd come over with the information.

"What's the address?" Lassiter demanded, waiting for Buzz to rattle it off before going back to checking the underside of his desk. _Better call and see how that noise disturbance went so we can get over to the crime scene,_ he griped as he slid out from under the heavy piece of furniture, giving up on figuring out what the hell Spencer had done to the thing until after he and O'Hara checked out this burglary as he dialed the blonde's number.

"_Hey, Carlton, what's up?" _his partner's perky voice came through the line.

"Chief wants us to check out a 459 at 5297 Sycamore," the head detective replied, "Everything go alright with that noise complaint?" Once Juliet assured him that, yes, everything had gone fine, Lassiter pushed on, "Then meet me at the scene in 15," before ending the call and heading out the door, slipping on his sunglasses as he headed toward his Fusion. _Oh, yeah, I've got the perfect solution to my psychic problem..._

* * *

_Well there goes __**THAT **__theory..._Detective Weatherbee admitted incredulously as he watched the footage for the tenth time in disbelief. Though grainy, black and white, and nowhere near in focus, what the veteran detective was seeing simply defied explanation. Because the video, even without sound, told the entire story in vivid detail from the handful of customers entering the store in small groups to the armed suspects barging in and rounding everyone up along the far wall, just off screen a short while later. Up until that point it had seemed like a routine robbery, including the store clerk hitting the silent alarm to alert the authorities, as well as Weatherbee's 20 causing the veteran to be the first officer on the scene. _And then, _he mused with a grimace, _It went from routine to bizarre in the blink of an eye. _Viewing the footage as he reasoned it out, he watched the only armed man that was in the picture focus on something off screen, seeming to exchange words with one of the hostages several times over the course of less than twenty minutes, before his attention was captured by something in front of the building. _Must have been about the time I pulled into the parking lot,_ Weatherbee admitted, noticing the immediate change in the man's stance, as he quickly became more and more agitated, his pacing becoming more pronounced as he ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking straight up in several places. Even through the grainy video, the detective could easily tell that the young man was about to reach his breaking point when suddenly a hooded figure entered the frame from the right, cloth slipping down to reveal part of his face as he knocked the gun out of the man's hands, and glancing around before grabbing and striking him with what appeared to be a fire extinguisher, before hurrying past the camera. From the time stamp it truly _was _less than five minutes later when it was all over, though the only other piece that was clearly caught on the footage began when the mysterious man, who had picked up a gun somewhere along the way, crept into the frame and started firing at two of the remaining perpetrators on one side of the store, and then two more, with such surprising results, before ending when he appeared to give the lens an unreadable look before scrambling out of sight.

_No wonder Rollins was so reluctant to answer my question and chose to evade it rather than even attempt to make me understand, _he thought, realizing that he would much rather deal with the hours of paperwork associated with one of Collins's procedural snafus, which was something he_ never_ thought would cross his mind, than attempt to sort this _new _migraine out. He shook his head softly as he sifted through his options, not liking the two that were immediately available to him. The first was to hope that the shooter would come in on his own to talk to them, which was probably not going to happen. Chances were the man was long gone because, though extremely brief, the way he'd looked right at the lens before hustling out of the frame, as well as keeping his body turned mostly away from the camera, he was well aware everything he'd just done had been caught on tape, and that the police would descend en masse once the officer on scene called in those shots. Exactly _why _that would warrant him disappearing after the situation had been resolved peacefully, at least for the bystanders involved, and that he would most likely be hailed as the hero, was just the tip of the iceberg of questions that were forming in the detective's brain. One thing Daniel was fairly certain of was that the odds were fairly good that the man, who really could be avoiding the authorities for any number of reasons, because some people simply didn't _like_ law enforcement, wasn't a violent offender. _Hell, you only have to look at the deliberate care he'd taken in placing every single one of the five shots to know he went out of his way to avoid mortally wounding each and every one of them…_

_Not that any of that helps the Chicago Police Department, _Daniel admitted_,_ wondering why he was even hesitating to make the call in the first place,_ If I don't, the odds definitely aren't in our favor of getting answers if the mystery man didn't choose to willingly resurface, and the likelihood of that happening is looking less and less likely all the time. So, that leaves only the one option left to me, at this point..._he realized with a sigh, picking up the phone and calling the captain, his thoughts on another odd man whose identity he was still dying to know.

* * *

Yes *points to box* take the time and type something, then click the submit button :D


	28. You and I get so damn Disfunctional we

Chapter 28: You and I get so Damn Dysfunctional that We Stopped Keeping Score, then You and I get Sick, Yeah, I Know that We can't do this no more.

_36 priceless classic cars, ranging in value from $100,00 to just under half a million dollars apiece, are now nothing more than a collection of scratched metal and scrap parts…_Phoenix fumed as he looked over the ruins in his garage. Every cloth top on his convertibles had been sliced to ribbons, the shredded fabrics taunting Phoenix like a sea of pirate flags, and each and every tire had been slashed through the sidewall. _And that doesn't even begin to describe what was done to the __**finish **__of any of them, _he grumbled, belatedly wondering where Jerry was, since he wasn't at his post. _Probably stuffed in one of the trunks somewhere…_he grumbled irritably.

And, though he refused to admit that this was probably what Pamela had felt when she'd waltzed into her apartment to find a graveyard of designer shoes, the green eyed man made a split second decision as he stood there. Still seething at the sight of his precious collection of cars violated in his _home, _of all places, Phoenix once again headed through his luxurious gym, making his way back to his study, where his gun safe housed a veritable arsenal. _We'll just see how the bitch likes what I have in store for her __**next,**_the dark haired man promised, selecting two different handguns as well as a couple of extra magazines, only to freeze at a sound that was completely out of place in his house. Immediately getting closer to the ground, Phoenix crept to the window, moving the custom made teak blinds just enough to see outside and down to the driveway, where everything appeared to be normal.

_I know I heard the distinct, if muffled, sound of something breaking a few rooms over,_ he thought adamantly, loading both weapons before tucking one of the guns into the waistband of his pants and flipping the safety off of the other, as he tried to identify the source of the noise. He crept around the corner, even though there was a very slight chance that one of his staff members could have accidentally knocked something off its pedestal. _If someone did he or she will pay dearly_, Phoenix thought, almost positive the sound had come from his living room three hallways over when a different noise, this one he knew all too well, caused him to dive for cover as the doorframe above him splintered from the impact of the 9mm rounds. _Yes, I knew I heard something...that __**bitch**__ has not only broken into __**my home **__and destroyed my cars__, but is actually trying to __**KILL **__me?!_

He knew he'd laugh about this entire thing when it was finally over..._Preferably somewhere tropical that doesn't have any extradition laws, _Phoenix mused as he soundlessly moved from behind the couch, keeping as low as possible as he sprinted for the less open sections of the house, emptying his clip in the general direction the shots had come from and being rewarded with a masculine grunt when at least one of his barrage of bullets hit _something_. That knowledge, however, didn't slow Phoenix down as the wall behind him was peppered with gunfire. _So, it's at least two on one, _the green eyed man reasoned as he navigated through his living room, replacing his clip and immediately spotting the shards that had once been a 14th century Ming dynasty vase as he vowed revenge on whoever was suicidal enough to think they could do this to him. Then he cleared his mind and turned his focus to listening intently for any sounds from the intruders. _If I play my cards right, they should come right to me…_

The lean man slipped behind the massive antique grandfather clock as he waited to see which direction his assailants would emerge from, knowing he was well hidden for the moment and hearing the sound of approaching footsteps from his left. When he could finally see the tip of a gun barrel appear from around the corner, Phoenix sent up a silent apology as he kicked over another pedestal, this one holding an ancient Egyptian pot, waiting for the threat to show itself as the centuries old artifact exploded before making his move. Once the man, Franco, Phoenix concluded, showed enough of his upper body to present a decent target, he fired two rounds into the man's chest that sent him crashing into two more stands, turning priceless pieces of art into rubble in a matter of seconds.

Hearing the rapidly advancing footfalls of another person, Phoenix readied himself to take out this new target when a spray of bullets tore into the cherry wood behind him, sending him from his suddenly inadequate hiding place and back on the move, changing magazines once again as he crossed the large space. _Ok, time to fight dirty..._he decided, taking a fast left down the hallway to one of the secret passages he had installed, knowing this particular one would circle back around to the other side of the house without Pamela having a clue as to his whereabouts. _Which is an advantage I'm going to need since I'm down to two magazines for ready ammunition_, Phoenix mused as he drew closer to the front of his home, immediately able to tell something was wrong as the overpowering stench of smoke started to reach his nostrils. _Looks like she got underhanded first, _he admitted as he hit the end of the passageway, re-entering his study and firing at the movement to his left, momentarily surprised when it wasn't returned. At least until he drew close enough to recognize the remains of his 40 gallon exotic fish tank, and, seeing red, brought his second handgun into his open hand, determined to kill the sick son of a bitch responsible for murdering his prize fish. _It took me forever to track down each and every one of those, _Phoenix grumbled angrily.

Dual handguns trained on the doorway of the next room, both brother and sister-in-law opened fire at the same time from opposite sides, advancing on one another as they each shared the same goal, to be the only person left breathing by the end of this final confrontation, but neither one bothering to take much care in where the shots were placed, preferring to utilize the sheer number to take each other out. So, not surprisingly, when the two finally met in the middle of the decimated room, their guns long since emptied and abandoned, neither Potter nor Phoenix had suffered more than a few minor wounds, and each was way beyond caring that both the authorities as well as the fire department _had _to be en route. "You _bitch,_" Ellery spit out, venom oozing out of the word, as he circled the redhead, "You _killed _my _**fish! **__What did they ever do to __**YOU?!"**_

"You say bitch like it's supposed to be a bad thing…But, no, _**dearling,**_" Pamela returned with false sincerity, matching her brother-in-law's movements with ease, "_**You**_ did...After all, you were the one who shot the fish tank and sent all those _poor_ things to their end..." the agile woman easily dodged the fist the green eyed man threw at her, countering with a forceful jab of her own before the man rushed at her, getting a swift kick to the chest for his efforts. Ellery, adrenaline flowing, barely felt the impact as he grabbed hold of her still raised leg, pulling the woman off balance and into his range, wrapping one hand around her throat. The redhead countered with a heel to his nose, using the automatic tearing of his eyes to make her next move, a roundhouse with her suddenly free limb that swept the dark haired man's knees out from under him, only to have him latch onto her arm as he went down, sending them both to the ground.

Even as she landed, Pamela was on the move, rolling away from the livid man and making it to her knees as she grabbed one of the few artifacts left in the room that was still in one piece and launched it at her brother-in-law, getting to her feet as she grabbed a broken pedestal, advancing on the slightly dazed man, only to be brought to the floor once again as he tackled her by the knees. Grunting as the impact momentarily knocked the wind out of her lungs, the redhead brought her right knee up into Ellery's chest, keeping him from pinning her onto the ground, and swinging both of her knees to the left. She used them to push the lean man off of her, flipping him onto his back as she rolled over him and to the right, trying to regain her footing only to have him tackle her from the side. "Gotcha," he crowed, straddling her, unprepared for Pamela to grab him by the neck with both hands and flip backwards, trapping him under her.

"You were saying?" she shot back, easily keeping him under her as he attempted to throw her off, before finally managing to flip them back over by kneeing the redhead in the back.

"This is getting us _nowhere!_" Ellery grumbled in frustration, trying to hold the squirming woman semi still as she thrashed under him, dodging his hands. _I really haven't spent enough time at the gym this week, _he admitted, grunting slightly when a well-placed elbow caught him in the gut.

"It would be perfect if you'd just _die_ already!" she returned, knowing for all of her bravado that the threat was useless, since it was going to take forever to kill each other using nothing more than hand to hand combat techniques. _What the hell, _Pamela grumbled, bringing her right hand up, catching Ellery in the chin and pushing his head back forcefully, _Hasn't stopped me before…_

"Not in this lifetime, S_weetheart,_" the dark haired man retorted, grabbing onto Pamela's wrist and twisting, breaking her grip on his neck, only to have her left hand come up and latch onto his right ear, causing him to howl when she applied more pressure to the sensitive tissue. "Damn you, LET Go!"

"Not until _**YOU **_let go, you ass!" the redhead replied, unable to dodge as Ellery used his free hand to grab onto her locks, hitting her head against the floor until she lost her grip on him, _Crap, now I'm going to have a helluva headache, _she grumbled, swinging her left hand toward his face.

_Her grip on my ear might leave a mark, _he thought, taking pride in the small noise of distress his sister-in-law made as he banged her head on the hard surface, but knowing his victory was going to be short lived when he saw her blood red nails coming toward his eye. He deflected the blow easily enough, sending her nails into his hairline just above his right eye, and began to swear profusely when he felt a wetness running down the side of his face. _That, however, had BETTER__** NOT**__ leave a mark, _Ellery vowed, though he knew there wasn't anything he could do about it at this point, and thankful her nails hadn't hit their original target. "This is all. Your. Fault," the green eyed man exclaimed, going back to hitting her head on the floor, unaware that Pamela had managed to free one of her knees somewhere along the way.

"No. _It. __**ISN'T!**_" she uttered, using her lower limb to strike the man above her anywhere she could reach, forcing him to loosen his grip on her hair. "Everything would have been _**FINE **_if you had just let. _Me. __**Handle. HIM!"**_ causing Ellery to suddenly snap.

"You call what you did _**HANDLING him?!**_" he yelled incredulously, "You caused one of our main buildings to _**burn down to the ground!" **_trying to reach her neck, as the redhead managed to roll them both over once again, stopping when they ran into the side of the grandfather clock.

"Like I _knew_ a fire extinguisher would cause the panel to overheat and _catch __**fire!**_" Pamela shot back, as Ellery rolled them over, heartily sick of the whole topic. "Besides, _You_ were the one that said it was **HANDLED! **What good did that do when the damage had already been done!?"

"Which brings me back to the point that this. IS. _ALL. __**YOUR. FAULT!" **_he repeated, refusing to budge on the issue.

Both combatants were so intent on gaining the upper hand as they wrestled that they heard neither the front door being kicked in, nor the multitude of Federal Agents that surrounded the room, declaring, "Freeze! FBI!"

* * *

The second the barrage of shots stopped, and Phoenix's footsteps faded down the hallway, Franco cracked open one eye, making sure he was truly alone in the room before getting to knees, and finally his feet, as quickly as possible, taking a shaky breath as his sore ribs protested under the protection of the bullet proof vest he'd been smart enough to wear. _I can't believe my gamble paid off,_ he admitted, extremely thankful he'd worn the Kevlar, making his way through the destroyed room as quietly as he could while dodging pieces of what had once been priceless art, stopping to listen every few seconds to pinpoint exactly where the brother and sister-in-law had resumed their mission to kill each other. _I, for one, am outta here, before everyone and their mother descends on this place...I've seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime, and maybe it's time to start over new, _he thought as he focused on taking short breaths, making it almost to the door when the sound of gunfire could be heard once again. _Alright, time to leave_, Franco griped, stepping through the opening on the sliding glass patio door that had been the unfortunate recipient of a stray round as he trekked toward the SUV that was parked two streets over, the sound of sirens growing steadily louder. Knowing it was probably already too late to avoid being arrested, and expecting to see the vehicles that were making the racket any second, the man wondered briefly if he might be able to cut a deal with the Feds. As relieved as Franco was to not be bleeding out in that room, he had no illusions he was looking at some serious jail time, and recalled a time when he wouldn't have even contemplated turning on his mistress, even upon threat of death, but he had to admit, that time seemed to have vanished somewhere into the ether in the last 72 hours. The man wasn't the least bit surprised to encounter the first approaching cop car before he'd made it a block, surprised when it sped past but letting out a sigh when another screeched to a stop right in front of him. _Yep, pretty much figured it was gonna go this way…_he thought, putting up his hands in surrender as the agents got out of the vehicle, guns drawn.

…_And I know all sorts of things I can give them in order to reduce my stay in the pen..._

* * *

"What?!" Charlie exclaimed in disbelief, wondering if Shawn was trying to pull his leg to avoid having to explain _any_ of the odd things that had happened today, _Hell, since we brought him here, _the muscular man admitted silently as he ventured closer to better see the screen, remembering that he'd never gotten an adequate answer as to how the man had figured out who had really robbed that jewelry store simply by watching that news clip. Curious to see what this woman Shawn had described to him_ really_ looked like, because the man's account was riddled with holes, Charlie did a double take as he recognized the person in the breaking story that had captured the attention of the few patrons in the bar.

_And why wouldn't it? _he silently wondered as he glanced from the footage to his friend and then back again, more convinced than ever that the hazel eyed man must have some seriously stellar luck to survive any kind of a run in with 'Potter' Alinksky and live to tell about it. "Are you _**sure**_?" Charlie couldn't help but ask as he read the report scrolling on the bottom news ticker, detailing that both she and Phoenix, her brother-in-law, were in federal custody for a long list of pending charges. _I seriously never thought I'd see the day when those two were able to be put behind bars, _he thought in wonder, knowing his friend had to be at the bottom of this, even if he wasn't aware of that particular fact.

"Completely and totally sure," Shawn responded quietly, finally tearing his eyes off of the video of the redhead being led to an unmarked car, an expression on her face that reminded him all too clearly of the one she'd had that night in the warehouse, as well as the words she'd said to him as he suppressed a shudder, '_If you speak to me like that again, I __**will**__ cut your tongue out...' _Giving himself a mental shake, Shawn focused on studying the other person being led to a police car, knowing he didn't have nearly as many associations with the green eyed man, though the consultant did not doubt that Phoenix wasn't just as deadly as his sister-in-law. _Thankfully the only run in with him that I had was with his thugs in that alley,_ he mused, not certain that train of thought was going to end any better than thinking about Potter. _Between threats of getting my tongue cut out before getting shot at and almost getting gutted in an alley…Is there __**really **__a preferable option at all? _Shawn wondered, letting the wheels in his head turn as he debated where this newest piece of news left him. Yes, it was great to think that the nightmare could finally be over, even though either one of the bosses could still come after him from behind bars, but where did he go from here? _Or more importantly…How in the world do I go about getting __**home **__from here?_ The consultant wondered, knowing that, without any money or proper ID, his chances of easily getting back to Santa Barbara were few and far between. _Well, walking's out, _he thought cynically, _As is a plane, train or bus,_ Shawn admitted, certain that without adequate identification, he'd never set foot on any of them. _Unless I stowaway in the baggage compartment on the Amtrak…_

"How did you manage to get involved with _that_ woman?" the bartender inquired, unaware of Shawn's thought process as the two took a seat at the nearly deserted bar, searching his brain for anything he'd missed from his friend's story the other day. Coming up empty, Charlie continued before the other man could say anything, "I guess you ending up with that painting must have been one _helluva_ twist of fate..." knowing from the contemplative look on Shawn's face that his mind was miles away. Snapping his fingers in front on the consultant's nose, the bartender joked, "Earth to Shawn, come in, Shawn," watching as his friend blinked a few times before facing him. "What's going through that thick head of yours?"

"Just realizing I actually have _**no**_ idea how in the world I am supposed to go about getting home," the faux psychic admitted breezily after a moment, inwardly wincing as he wondered if he was going to have to do the unthinkable and call his father, noting the look on Charlie's face that fairly screamed the other man hadn't given the matter a second thought, too busy trying to solve the mystery of the last few days. "I've been so set on finishing this, and finding out who the baddies were, that I hadn't even considered where to go from here…"

In the end, it was Jake, who'd been listening to their conversation from his place behind the bar who broke the silence. "Well, boys, I know someone who might be able to help Shawn out with that," chuckling when two pairs of eyes immediately focused on him expectantly.

* * *

Let's face it, reviews are love, they inspire me and keep me motivated…And stop me from thinking it's time to take a break from posting…They are also inspiring because my readers give me ideas that work their way into my stories, help me develop sections that are already written, and create conversations that weren't there to begin with.


	29. The Glass is half full, no half Empty

BTW: This chapter has two of my favorite scenes, and one of them was among the first sections written when I started this story. As a special thanks to bemyryder, here are another few chapters for you, Happy Halloween for those that celebrate it :D

* * *

Chapter 29: The Glass is half full. No, half empty. No, half...Wait a Minute...What was the Question?

_My boss ordered me to..._

Gus allowed his mind to wander, absentmindedly repeating the phrase to himself and puzzling over the odd wording of Ogletree's comment before he'd left the salesman's office after their 'talk' on Tuesday. He needlessly reorganized his desk for the second time that week, all the while wondering if he might be able to arrange a 'chance' meeting with Ginger if he just happened to park the Blueberry outside the clinic on Arrellaga. Unfortunately, thoughts of the brunette only served to remind him of the odd communication Shawn had somehow left him to let Gus know he was alright. It had been a note on his windshield that simply stated, _Bad news, Buddy, she's only using you to make one of the xray technicals_, even in print Sawn couldn't resist bungling terms, causing the dark skinned man to roll his eyes at his best friend's idiocy,_ see green, (once again it is proven that anyone with that name can't be trusted, filthy pirate hookers) and you might want to forget about that 'barista,' as you insist on calling her, (and, Dude, how many times do I have to tell you to stop making up words?) because she is most __**definitely**__ not your type...trust me on that one._

_Even when he's nowhere to be found, he has me at a loss of how the heck he does it, _Gus thought with a sigh, not even bothering to question the last line of the note as he recalled so many instances over Shawn's road trip when he wondered just how his best friend always seemed to know exactly what was going on in his life. In all honesty, though, there was never an easy explanation for how Shawn managed to do _anything_ he did, if the pharmaceutical salesman was completely honest with himself. Shaking his head to dispel all the questions that had formed during his woolgathering, Gus's thoughts were immediately drawn back to the regional sales manager's words...

"Why would the new boss order my manager to send _me_, of all people,to an outdated conference, so far out of state no less, and on such short notice?" the pharmaceutical salesman mused aloud, pacing his office as he tried to figure out what, other than the fact that Ogletree had seemed so sour about the whole thing, was bothering him, and wondering if it might be nothing more than the situation with Shawn making him a bit paranoid. Though Gus tried to tell himself that it was just that, that too much had happened in such a short span of time for the dark skinned man to really be sure if something that might feel out of place was anything more than frazzled nerves, there were simply too many holes in the scenario to sit well enough with him to leave it alone.

_Seriously doubt I'll figure anything major out this minute, _Gus admitted, coming back around to his desk to grab his jacket, reasoning that a drive might do wonders to clear his head, _But there's no way I am humming Lassie's danger music, _he thought, turning off the overhead light on his way out the door, _No matter how 'catchy' Shawn insists it is..._His mind made up on the next course of action, it took the dark skinned man several moments to notice the slight crowd that had started to gather near the break room, until it dawned on him that it was way too late for the usual lunch crowd to still be on this side of the building. Gus made a detour, curiosity getting the better of him, and the story being aired on the screen causing him to forget all about the issue he'd been puzzling over seconds before as he drew close enough to hear the newscaster.

* * *

"_It's like something you would only see on the big screen_," the news announcer declared, her voice mostly muffled by the people hurrying past the set, intent on their tasks, "_But the Chicago Police Department needs the public's help today to identify the man in the footage you are about to witness from an attempted convenience store robbery that occurred earlier this afternoon...and it's truly a video you have to see to believe." _Unlike many of his colleagues, and extremely intrigued by the woman's words, despite the newscaster being halfway across the country, Buzz McNab took a moment to watch the video. A moment he really couldn't spare with the hubbub of everything that had caused the coverage at the station to being spread rather thin this afternoon, jaw dropping as he _recognized _the man on the screen, as impossible as that seemed. Every coherent thought slipped through his mind like he was trying to hold a bunch of dry sand in his grasp, and, though a part of his mind registered that Detective Lassiter was calling his name from across the room, obviously wanting to know what the officer had found on the plates the head detective had told him to run, he couldn't seem to wrench his attention away from the video loop in front of him.

"McNab!" Lassiter couldn't believe that the young officer was ignoring him, especially since he was impatiently waiting on the results of the DMV search, in order to watch _**TV**_ of all things..._Those had better not be cartoons on that screen, _he thought irately as he gave up observing and stormed across the bullpen, repeating the tall man's name as he went, his voice getting more annoyed and increasing in volume as he drew closer. "McNab!" his tone caused almost every officer in his path to quickly scatter right and left, anxious to keep out of the livid man's line of sight, as he bellowed, "MCNAB! What in the world are you staring at like an imbecile?!" Glancing at the flat screen in irritation, "The chie..." sentence trailing off as the head detective got a good look at what exactly had entranced the tall man on the television screen, Lassiter could only stare in mute shock at what had to be the world's cruelest joke. Blinking a few times in hopes that he had simply fallen asleep in the craziness and was currently suffering either a hallucination or a nightmare, the head detective pinched himself on the arm, _hard,_ wincing when he felt the sharp sting of pain and frowning when the loop on the television didn't change. _Crap, just what in Sweet Justice is going on here, _he grumbled as the distinctive click of heels approached from the direction of Chief Vick's office.

Not bothering to ask why two of her employees were appearing to waste time they didn't have by watching TV, she asked, "Carlton, do you have any idea why Henry practically pushed me out of my off..." only to immediately fall silent when she glanced at the grainy video, before turning to leave with a murmured, "Nevermind."

* * *

"Man, you _know _I hate da news," Rye muttered just loud enough for the man next to him to hear as one of the other inmates changed the channel from Animal Planet to the local news broadcast, as he finished his final set of bench presses, neither knowing nor caring about anything that happened in this state, not even if it was something that would bring him news of the painful, and extremely brutal, death of a certain psychic detective, because the massive man had been fantasizing about that outcome for a month now, at _his _hands, and he'd be damned if someone else was going to take that right away from him. His best friend, Rind, who had no problem understanding the cocoa skinned man's reasoning, as well as his simmering rage, simply shrugged as if to say, 'What do you expect from a place where there's nothing but row after row of daffy lookin' trees?' when the newscaster's international update on some warfare in the Middle East was interrupted by a special bulletin.

_Wonder what hoity toity celebrity ended up in rehab __**this**__ time, _Rye thought with a snort, his recollection of the last time someone cut in with such a report reason enough that neither man bothered to pay the blonde on the screen much heed until her next statement stopped them cold, '_Let's go live to our affiliate out in Chicago for the full story..._' causing both to practically drop their respective weights as they scrambled to get as close to the television set as humanly possible, elbowing several others out of the way to get a better view.

"_What can you tell us about the events that transpired out there today, Jeff?" _the newscaster's voice carried through the TV's speakers before the reporter on scene, dressed in a full winter jacket and thick hat, standing in front of a pricey piece of real estate taped off by yellow crime scene tape answered, the flashing lights in the background casting an eerie glow on his face.

"_There's not too much to tell, at this point at least, Carla," _he admitted after a moment, _"All we know for sure is that this quiet, upscale neighborhood of Glenview was shocked today when gunfire erupted deep inside this residence around 2 o'clock, prompting multiple people in surrounding houses to dial 911 when stray bullets started hitting their properties, which resulted in several thousand dollars in damages. So far the only detail that has been confirmed is that the residence belongs to a local man, an Ellery Griffin, who works in Chicago...apparently this was a domestic dispute with a family member, but a great many details are still up in the air at this point. The fire department was also called in because a portion of the residence was engulfed, though what exactly the source of the blaze was is unclear. The only other thing that authorities have told us thus far is that there are four people in custody, though how many of those are actually being held on charges remains to be seen..."_

Though the newscast continued, the anchor and the on scene reporter discussing some small detail or another, it was the video playing in the background, which had been taken at some previous point that day, that caught the two men's attention, because there, battered and a bit bloody, but looking for all the world like she wasn't concerned about being handcuffed and led to the back of an unmarked cruiser, was Potter. _And, not too far off to the left, is Phoenix, appearing like he got the worst of it,_ Rye admitted, not quite believing his eyes, and wracking his brain to figure out just who the two had to have been battling in Phoenix's home. When the television went back to the local news, the two friends made their way to an out of the way corner, exchanging a look before either one said a word, the dark skinned man being the first to break the silence. "What da hell do ya think happened, Rind?"

The taller man sighed, an unhappy expression settling on his features, as he answered, turning slightly away as he spoke, "Much as I hate to say it...It looks likes the two of 'em tried to take each other out...but the question is _why?"_ When it became apparent, after several moments of silence, that his best friend wasn't going to respond, he glanced over, only to find the spot Rye had been standing vacant. _What the?_ Rind wondered, finally locating the other man back over by the television set, a murderous set to his jaw as he visibly ground his teeth. _Shit...__**now**__ what?! _the light skinned man thought with a sigh as he hurried back into the main part of the room, jaw dropping when he realized just what, or rather more accurately _**who**_, had put that homicidal look in Rye's eyes.

_I seriously pity the next person who tries to mess with 'im, 'cause he's gonna get __**way**__ more than he bargained for..._

* * *

Reviews keep stories going, they keep authors motivated, and they prove there are still people out there following…And isn't that what it's all about? Because it would suck if it really _was_ all about the Hokey Pokey…


	30. Out Here it's like I'm Someone Else I

They're not mine…Never will be, and now that it's been said, here's the second promised chapter. So, if you're follwoing this, I updated once today already, so make sure to read that chapter first.

* * *

Chapter 30: Out here it's like I'm someone else, and I Thought that maybe I could Find Myself...

_Man, now I know how Tango felt, _Shawn silently bemoaned from the back seat of Charlie's ancient sedan, pushing up the sleeves on the old, but extremely soft, sweatshirt they had found in Calvin's closet as he wondered if the whole family just might be giants. "And Istanbul was Constantinople," he muttered quietly, ignoring the look Marcus shot him from the other side of the car, as he hoped this old friend that Jake mentioned back at the bar would be able to help him get home.. _And willing, _the hazel eyed man thought with a small sigh, wondering just what he was going to have to do to reach clothing that actually fit, all the while hoping it wasn't going to even remotely resemble the time his dad's friend, Captain Dale, had given them a ride back out to that oil rig. Suppressing a shudder at the memory, he went back to scanning the scenery as he tried to ignore the humungous sleeves that kept sliding back down. _Though, there might be one advantage of wearing a shirt that's three times too big, _Shawn thought with a snort as he once again tried to readjust the fabric, eying a couple of young women in tight outfits that were loitering near a street corner, _At least I shouldn't have to worry about fending off any unwanted advances...Even from the professionals…_

Shawn was pulled out of his musing as Jake stopped at the entrance gate seconds later, rolling down the window and telling the attendant, through puffs of breath, that they were there to see Wiley. "Coyote, genius extraordinaire…" Shawn muttered when the attendant simply nodded a moment later, able to feel Marcus's eyes boring into the side of his head. _No matter what I tried with the teen, I only managed to make things worse,_ he thought in frustration, hoping that his departure might help mend things between the brothers. After a few seconds of talking to the attendant, the bouncer drove under the raised arm and into the parking lot, pulling into a spot on the far end next to an older model Ford that reminded Shawn of his father's, before its swan dive into that ditch, which caused him to wonder if his dad ever managed to find a replacement that met his exacting standards. _Probably just one more thing that will be laid at my feet the minute I hit the state line, _Shawn predicted, only vaguely registering Jake's comment of, "Looks like he's in the middle of a game, boys, so better let me do the talking, because Wiley can get really ornery when people barge in on them, and you don't wanna get him riled up…" as he headed into the metal structure, leaving the three passengers staring after him for several heartbeats in bemused silence before following, the faux psychic bringing up the rear.

Tugging the oversized hood up to give himself what anonymity he could, Shawn took in the dimly lit room, and, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the difference in lighting, stopped slightly behind Jake and the Parker brothers as he assessed the scene. In the middle of the large space sat an old, scarred table with four occupants gathered around the surface, betting on a hand of poker. Of the men whose faces he could see, Shawn immediately noted that the one on the left missed his flush, the heavier set man on the right hadn't managed to turn his single pair into anything more, and the balding man in the middle had the best hand of any of the trio because, even having missed a full house, he possessed two pair. It was the dark skinned man whose back was toward him, however, that had Shawn searching his memory, certain he'd seen the person somewhere before, just not quite able to place exactly where, at least until he opened his mouth.

"C'mon, all you people ever _**do**_ is fold!" Shawn barely suppressed a snort when he realized he knew _**exactly**_ where he'd encountered the hothead, who was studying the player on either side who had wisely bowed out of the card game, before focusing on the balding man with two pair, challenging him. "How about you, O'Brien?" When the confident man simply matched him glare for glare, Wiley tossed a few bills in the middle of the table, declaring, "I'll call, what do you have to say to that?"

The words were so eerily reminiscent of another poker game, states away and years ago, that, even though Shawn knew that the inquiry hadn't been directed at him, and that ignoring Jake's directive probably wasn't the best way to ensure he'd get a ride home today, he couldn't have stopped the rapid fire come back if he'd tried. _Wonder if he'll remember me…_

"Your cards just stink, you're bluffing..."

* * *

"Yes, hello, I need to speak to one of your detectives about the video that was aired," Henry barked into the phone as he resisted the urge to pace, part of him glad that Shawn had finally surfaced, while the video he'd just seen caused his blood to run cold at the thought of what in the world his son had been doing over 2100 miles away in the first place..._And sporting more__ injuries, obvious even through the grainy video footage, and willingly __**using**__ a gun against several armed men, to boot..._

"_Detective Weatherbee," _came the gravelly voice across the line, weariness evident in his tone even though he tried to disguise it, "_What can I do for you?"_

"You can start by telling me what the _hell_ my _**son **_is doing on national television," Henry demanded, not missing the sharp intake of breath from the detective on the other end, but it was the man's next statement that had him torn between whether he should roll his eyes or be even more concerned about Shawn's latest brush with danger.

"_I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific than that, sir,_" the voice on the other end of the phone began cryptically, though the lack of conviction behind the detective's words immediately put the liaison's hackles up.

"Unless you go around flashing so many extraordinary video clips that you would have trouble identifying the one I am referring to, that was just aired five minutes ago, by the way, I think you know _exactly _what I am talking about." He insisted, momentarily taken aback when the detective didn't answer right away.

"_I'm going to have to call you back, sir," _the man's voice came over the sound of shuffling papers, _"Do you have a cell phone I can reach you on?"_

Eyebrows raised in interest, Henry rattled off his phone number and hung up his desk phone as he waited to see if the odd man would really call. On the off chance that he would, the liaison made a beeline for Karen's office, barging in without knocking and, ignoring the woman's eyebrow raise, briskly explaining he was waiting for an extremely important phone call. When his phone did indeed ring a moment later, Karen gave him a small nod before giving him some privacy as Henry wasted no time answering it._ Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on here..._

"_Sorry about that,_" the man on the other end of the line began without preamble, "_It's just so crazy around here with everything the Alisky/Griffin bust entailed and, when the number came back as, not only a California area code, but the Santa Barbara Police Department, I wanted to make sure the call was legit."_

"Well, that's because I _am_ at the Santa Barbara Police Department, I work as a liaison out here," Henry shot back, unsure of what exactly his location had to do with anything, but not liking the feeling the detective's words evoked in him. This entire situation just kept getting more and more strange, and, up until he'd seen his son on the news, Henry would have sworn the college kid with Shawn's iPhone was about as bizarre as things could get. "But what the _hell _does that have to do with that footage I saw on TV?"

After several tense moments of silence, in which the liaison's mind came up with every single worst case scenario imaginable, each more graphic than the last, the other man sighed and weighed his words carefully before speaking. "_With how bizarre this case is becoming,_" Henry listened in mute disbelief, already having a good idea where Weatherbee was going next, "_We're doing everything we can to keep this piece of information quiet, but there is a very good chance that we might have some sort of a leak on our end, which is why I asked you for a cell phone number..."_

"Do you think my son is a part of this?" He cut in quietly, abruptly changing the subject. Henry wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that frightening piece of information if the answer came back positive, at a complete loss of what he could actually do if Shawn was wanted by the Chicago police department. _Kid always did do things the hard way…_

"_No, as far as we've been able to ascertain, he was simply in the store at the wrong time," _causing the liaison to snort, "_Tried a few times to diffuse the situation, and when that failed, he put himself at great risk to save the people in that room...And, while we tend to do our best to discourage citizens from taking matters into their own hands, it's obvious that he knew how to handle that gun..." _the detective trailed off, hoping the person on the other end of the phone would be able and willing to provide him some information on the mystery man. _Like how the hell he managed to disarm every single one of the six perpetrators so cleanly..._ When Henry stayed silent, the Chicago detective continued, "_Your son was also well aware there were cameras in the room, went out of his way to avoid them even right up until the end, and that's the main reason I wanted to check out your location, while still needing to get whatever information we could from the public. Though I do have a possibly unrelated question for you," _the man continued after a moment, taking the liaison by surprise, watching as Karen quietly re-entered her office and wondering what _else_ could go wrong, "_Does the name Warren Peace mean anything to you?"_

* * *

_The things I do for love_...Potter silently bemoaned, thinking about the missing coin that had brought everything crashing down around her, as she paced her metal prison irately, glaring daggers at Ellery who had been secured in the cell across the room, and wholeheartedly wishing that the pigs hadn't interrupted their battle, because she was nowhere near finished with him. The green eyed man pointedly ignored the scorching look, choosing instead to catch what snippets he could from the television in the far corner of the room as he wondered what it was that had prompted the authorities to bring them into custody, unable to recall any specifics the arresting agents had mentioned earlier that day.

_Of course_, Phoenix thought in annoyance, _There's a very good chance they went into nauseating detail as to exactly why they brought us in,_ remembering how the unexpected arrival of the Feds hadn't done a single thing to stop him and Pamela from wrestling on the ground in the ruins of his living room, doing their damndest to snuff each other out of existence. _In fact,_ he admitted wryly with a self-deprecating laugh, _Neither one of us was even aware of their arrival until at least six of them forcibly pried us apart and cuffed us_, so it was almost guaranteed that the agents could have read him any number of charges without a single one of them being absorbed. _And this is exactly what I was worried about when she brought that pain in the ass here_...he grumbled, finding no real satisfaction in the man's demise, _We've been reduced to the level of common criminals, _Phoenix thought with a snarl, that turned into a deep throated growl as he watched the scenes play out on the screen. _Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…_

Having been completely focused on her brother-in-law, and fantasizing about all the painful things she could do to him if she could only get through two sets of solid iron bars, not to mention the half a dozen law enforcements agents in the area, Potter immediately noted his demeanor shift from stony silence to overwhelming outrage in the blink of an eye. _ Now __**what**__?!_ she thought in annoyance, recalling in vivid detail the disaster the rest of her day had been including having her manicure ruined when she was roughly cuffed and shoved into the back of a filthy police car, her designer jumpsuit destroyed when that same car slammed on the brakes and threw her forward into the rough edges of the mesh screen, and her beautiful skin marred when she was unceremoniously forced to be inked and printed in this hell hole._ Like I'm some small time thief or something..._Potter inwardly seethed, imagining some of the less profane comments her mother was bound to make in the wake of this whole fiasco as she paced, wondering for the millionth time just where her fool proof plan had gone wrong.

Unfortunately, that train of thought only served to bring back her rage at Ellery, who was still staring at something in the corner of the room like he could quite happily murder someone. Might as well figure out what has put that look on his face and get it over with, she decided glancing around, only to start screaming obscenities when she caught a glimpse of the TV.

* * *

"What _now_?!" Agent Sanchez exclaimed in frustration as he exchanged a look with Julio, noting the fact that every other set of eyes was focused on the other room, where Pamela, and her filthy motor mouth, had just gone into overdrive. _I wasn't even aware women were supposed to know some of those words.._.he mused, trying to decipher some of the screamed argument they'd overheard when they'd burst into Ellery's living room. _Most of which involved a back and forth of 'Whose fault it all was.' _"Wonder what the '_it'_ was that those two were so fiercely fighting about…" Carl mused, twirling idly in his chair.

"Don't know, don't care,": Julio responded gruffly, feeling a weight start to lift after he reminded himself that the people responsible for destroying his life were finally behind bars where they belonged. _Though they both deserve to be six feet under for what they did to me, _he grumbled, all the while knowing that wouldn't have been what his family would have wanted. _I'll just have to be content with the fact that they're finally off of the streets, _Julio mused, hating to admit he was at least a _little _bit curious to find out what the two were fighting about so intently when they'd been pulled apart hours ago. _Or just what caused the two to be so sloppy as to finally get caught in the first place…Not that I'll ever openly admit it…_ "But you'd better get in there and figure out what she's taking exception to _**this **_time," he ordered dourly, his tone brooking no argument. _Lord knows __**I'm **__not going in there…_

Shaking his head, Carl heeded the other agent's directive and got out of his seat to investigate just what had set of the unhinged woman off now, knowing that they couldn't transfer her and Griffin to a Federal Penitentiary soon enough for his sanity. A feeling that only intensified when he reached the other room, peering around the other four agents that had gathered to find the brother and sister-in-law suddenly silent, staring each other down with such intensity he was surprised neither one had spontaneously combusted. _Welll, that's different, _Carl thought in trepidation, finding he actually preferred the obscene threats to this eerie atmosphere when the redhead started yelling once again. _I may not speak…French? _the agent guessed as he listened to the litany of words, _But I know that tone and she is __**ANYTHING**__ but happy right now._

"Man, is she speaking Greek?" Agent Norris asked as two of the others tried to get the infuriated woman to calm down, leaving only the bearded man, Carl, and Agent Turow standing near the door.

"I was thinking French, but I'm no linguist," Carl admitted sheepishly, knowing how ridiculous his comment probably sounded.

"Actually, I think it's Italian," Emily Turow piped up, running her hands through her dark pixie cut as the two men turned toward her. "Though two of the three are derived from Vulgar Latin, so there are similarities between them, Italian is the more likely candidate." Without bothering to acknowledge the looks the men were giving her, the short woman turned her attention to the scene playing out on the other part of the room, where Pamela hadn't stopped screaming at her brother-in-law, who was resolutely ignoring the redhead. "Romance languages are derived from Vulgar Latin, or a spoken form of non-Classical Latin," she clarified when Carl simply snickered at the term, "And that's why they seem to sound similar…Though Greek _isn't _a Romance language, Alex," Emily admonished, causing Agent Norris to blush slightly at being called out, "That derived from the Hellenic language…" trailing off when something across the room caught her eye.

"What, no twenty minute lecture about the differences between the two, Turow?" Carl joked, following her line of sight when the raven haired woman didn't respond. "Friend of yours?" he asked after trying to watch the grainy loop, surprised when Emily shrugged without looking at him.

"Could be but doubt it," she finally answered non-committaly, before turning to leave the room, shaking off the thought. "Just looked like someone I used to know for a second there, which is silly, but I'm going to see if I can get a translation of that woman's rant for you guys," holding up a small recorder as she headed out the door, "Because you never know what you could get out of it…"

"What was that all about?" Agent Norris asked after Emily's retreating back, noting at the same time that Pamela's rant had finally faded away, causing the agents to head back to the main room.

"Sanchez! Norris! Get your butts in here, we've got work to do!" Julio's voice rang from the adjoining room, causing the two men to share a commiserating look before heading back out of the room.

"Wonder if the translation will manage to shed any light on this mess?" Carl asked as they approached Julio.

"Doubtful, man, doubtful…"


	31. Sitting out here on the Hood of this

And one last chapter tonight before I disappear. That makes three chapters in one night, with a couple more to go before the story is finished.

* * *

Chapter 31: Sittin' out here on the Hood of this Truck Looking up at a Caramel Colored Sunset Sky

_And here I thought there was nothing the man could do to make me even more doubtful of my sanity, _Marcus thought with a sigh, recalling just how Shawn's comment had hung in the suddenly silent room for several seconds as everyone eyed Wiley warily, then intently focused on the man foolish enough to interrupt their hand, fully expecting their buddy to lose hold on his temper over how his favorite past time had been so rudely invaded. The last thing any of the annoyed onlookers had expected, however, was for William Hastings to respond to the badly dressed man the way he had. As if he wasn't the least bit out of sorts, Wiley had turned in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed the ill-fitting sweatshirt, the sheer volume of fabric effectively concealing Shawn's face, and the clean, but well worn, jeans before demanding with a smirk, "Oh, yeah? Prove it, Hot Shot," causing Jake and Charlie to exchange a mystified look with the teen, trying to figure out if they had missed something important.

Glancing at the poker players, Charlie had noted the three men on the one side of the table all appeared just as lost he felt, leaving only Wiley, who'd been Jake's friend for ages, and Shawn, who he was truly beginning to realize just how little he actually knew about but he certainly wanted to learn more, who seemed to have any clue what was going on here. The hazel eyed man's next words had only managed to confirm the bartender's theory, while confusing the room's occupants even further. _No one had expected the hazel eyed man, _Charlie admitted with a small smile, _Who in all honesty looks more like a refuge than the consultant I recently found out he is, to start calling poker hands..._And the way he did it with such eerie accuracy, which the bartender was truly starting to realize was just the way Shawn seemed to be wired, simply caused the dark skinned poker player to laugh long and hard, going a long way toward breaking up the heavy silence that was suffocating the room, before exclaiming, "Damn it, Shawn, there's no way it could be anyone but _**you**_ under that hood." _Like that phrase explained it all…_

From there, the sheer amount of information that had been revealed in such rapid fire succession caused the green eyed man's head to spin. It was spinning to the point that he still wasn't completely certain he had any more than the gist of the story, only knowing for certain that Jake's old friend had worked with Shawn's father years ago in Santa Barbara, and that he had taught Shawn to play poker when he was seven. _And from what Shawn said, his father wasn't too keen on him learning to gamble at such a tender age…_Charlie thought with a chuckle. Even now, a half hour after the other players had left, the bartender and bouncer were quietly discussing some of the things they had learned about their unexpected house guest while Marcus stood off to the one end of the parking lot. Some of the highlights included the fact that his best friend's name was Gus, Shawn absolutely adored pineapple, and perhaps, most importantly, that he was apparently a psychic consultant for the Police department out in Cali. _Who helped catch Yang and stop Yin..._Charlie thought, suppressing a shudder as he recalled the split second look he'd caught in Shawn's eyes at the mere mention of them. Shaking off the thought, since it was just one more thing about his old friend he might never know all the details about, the dark skinned man motioned toward where the object of his musing was talking to Wiley before they headed that direction.

"What?" Shawn asked warily once the two were within earshot, not at all certain he liked the pensive look on Charlie's face, and hoping like hell he wasn't about to bring up either Yin or Yang, remembering the way his heart had skipped a beat when Hastings had remarked on that case earlier.

"Do you realize," his friend responded after a moment, " I just learned more about you in less than twenty minutes of conversation than I was able to drag out of you in the almost 72 hours you were in the bar?"

Noting the look on Charlie's face, Shawn was considering his words carefully when he noticed Marcus's pointed glance from the other side of the parking lot. Question forgotten, the consultant clapped the green eyed man on the arm as he turned to Hastings. _I seriously think it's time to get this show on the road,_ he mused as he commented, "Thanks for everything man, I'm not sure what I would have done if you hadn't been there this week, but, uh, Marcus is looking a little bit lost over there..."

* * *

Letting the low hum of voices wash over him from the men's conversation, even though he couldn't hear the words, Marcus immediately felt eyes on him. Glancing around, the teen noticed a muscular man standing on the far side of the airfield, staring in their direction with such intensity it gave him the chills. Forcing his eyes to move past the stranger, the dark skinned man looked back toward the four men, wondering what could have possibly captured the man's attention so completely, since there was nothing behind the talking group. Shaking his head, Marcus felt compelled, despite his better judgment, to check out the man one more time, only to find the place he'd been standing empty.

_Well, that's weird,_ the teen thought, perplexed, when the sound of his brother calling his name pulled his attention back to the four men farther down the field, next to Jake's car. _Guy musta been lost or something, _he reasoned as Charlie called out to him once again, causing Marcus to close the distance to the small group, putting the odd man out of his mind.

* * *

"You got anything new for me, Weatherbee?" Captain Geoffrey Chimera gruffly ordered as he stuck his head into the veteran detective's office, extremely anxious to find out who was responsible for closing this latest string of hold ups that had been occurring throughout the South Side, but utterly unwilling to believe that _no one_ had any clue who the mystery man in the video was. _He's probably just one of them,_ the 23 year veteran thought cynically, _And he turned on the rest for one reason or another, _though even as he thought it, he summarily rejected the idea because something about the theory rang hollow, even in the jaded man's mind.

In truth, what was weighing heaviest on the man's mind was that the federal authorities, after having arrested two of the most prominent citizens of the city that most officers knew were involved in criminal activity but just couldn't prove, came in flapping their gums that there had to be a person in _**his**_ department on the take, and that rubbed the man the wrong way. So, in turn, he was taking his frustration out on Weatherbee, because it seemed only fitting that the man in front of him should be as miserable, and humiliated, as he was currently feeling.

The detective checked his woefully inadequate notes, unwilling to mention the phone call just yet when he hadn't realized he'd failed to get the name of the man from California until _after_ he'd suddenly been hung up on and was listening to the dial tone. _Guess he didn't appreciate my question,_ Weatherbee mused as he sorted through the witness statements, finally settling on giving his supervisor the bare minimum for the moment, knowing he wasn't going to be able to get away with it for much longer.

"Well," he began glancing down at one report in particular, "We have finished getting formal statements from all of the eye witnesses that stayed at the scene, and, in addition to the man on the video, there was also another, African American, male who appeared to be conversing with him, disappearing at the same time...Though _he_ doesn't seem to show up on any of the footage," Weatherbee admitted after a few moments, "But we are scouring it frame by frame to see if we can get an ID on him." _And hopefully that will lead us to the other man...not to mention some answers..._he thought with a sigh, wondering if he was getting too old for this job, _Especially since two of the most notorious smugglers/drug dealers are finally going to be off of the street after over a decade of failed attempts._

"And?" Chimera prompted impatiently after the detective failed to provide any additional information, needing something that was going to lead him to _two_ mysterious males, and understandably frustrated at the new development, due of the complete lack of any real leads.

"Hmm, he was described as about 5'12" to 6'2" and 185 pounds," the detective continued, "Wearing dark washed jeans and a gray t shirt," knowing that the description wasn't the information that the Captain was angling for, but he was unable, and frankly unwilling until he could get his snafu straightened out, to provide anything more at this time. "As soon as we know something, we'll let you know."

"You'd better, Weatherbee," Chimera replied, "I shouldn't have to tell you just how sensitive this whole thing has become," in a tone that clearly implied he _was_ telling him just that, and, without waiting for any sort of confirmation of his statement, the short, balding man strode out of the office, pulling the door forcefully shut behind him.

As soon as the heavy wood clicked shut, the veteran detective was on the line to his contact, seeing if there was any way to speed the process up. "You get the information on that cell phone number yet? No? Well, let me know the second you do, OK? Yeah, the Captain is definitely riding me for new information..."

* * *

"Do you have a cellphone?" Shawn's sudden question pulled William Hastings out of his reverie as he searched his pockets for the electronic noting that the consultant gaze never wavered from the sky, and, handing it over when he finally found it, shamelessly eavesdropping on the younger man's call as he leaned against the hood of his Ford. His eyebrows raised in interest at the other man's directives, "Hey, I need a smallish favor...no, no, nothing like that...It was only _one_ time! Listen, get Sam to go to this address," the hazel eyed man continued as he rattled off a Chicago street number and name that Wiley couldn't quite place, when Shawn's next words suddenly clicked, "And tell her to talk to Marcus Parker...No, nothing more, but she'll understand what it means, trust me. I'm counting on you...thanks, man."

Before the older man could inquire about the details of the call, the consultant was dialing another number. "Hey, Frankfurter," Shawn greeted the other person, "I need you to do something for me," and then Hastings had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud at the lengthy pause as the man on the other end gave some response, "You owe me one, man...no, I haven't forgotten about that..." Wiley wondered the last time he'd had this much excitement in his life as he silently chuckled, "Dude, no I don't expect you to be a mind reader, but if you'll just shut up for a second I will _tell_ you...OK, I need you to have Davy...yes, Davy," Shawn repeated with an eye roll, "Deliver a few things for me...you got a pen and a paper handy?"

Hastings shook his head as one of the men from the airfield caught his attention, motioning him away from Shawn, and out of hearing range of his entertaining conversation. With a sigh, the dark skinned man hurried over, hoping to be able to be back in time to catch the gist of the second call. _Must have something to do with the Parker brothers_, he mused, quickly addressing the intern's questions and comments, his mind only half on the technical aspects since he wasn't overly concerned about any details of the upcoming flight. "Thanks, Johnny," he said when the man had wound down, pleased when nothing stood out to him in the intern's report.

Jogging back to where Shawn was still on the phone, he managed to catch the tail end of the hazel eyed man's statement, disappointment slicing through him as he wondered what he missed. "Just do this for me, OK? I'll make it worth your while, I promise," Shawn finished, snapping his borrowed cell phone shut, and returning it to its owner before remarking, "Everything all set to blow this popsicle stand?"

* * *

And I'm out until later, so…yeah…


	32. It's Time to Make My way back to the

So, I was all set to upload this, only to find that many of my word documents had mysteriously disappeared from my computer-and, though I had it all backed up, finding the drive I used to do so took far longer than planned. ...

Two more chappies to go, and they happen to be two of my favorites…But, none of the characters, other than my own original ones, belong to me in any way shape or form, and that's all I have to say about it…

* * *

Chapter 32: It's Time to make my way back to the World I Knew

"Hey, Charlie, you'd better get out here, man!"

The bartender groaned in frustration as he tried to figure out what in the world was _now _causing the ancient computer to lock up every time he attempted to do just about _anything_ on it..._Probably just showing its age,_ Charlie silently grumbled, wondering, short of selling a kidney on the black market, just how he was going to scrape together the funds to purchase a new one, _"_Cause there's no way I can imagine someone is going to be able to fix this hunk a junk." Hearing Jake call his name from the front of the bar, where he'd gone to answer a midday knock on the door was straining his already thin patience to its breaking point, causing him to wonder just why he was so out of sorts today. _This is because you're worrying about Spencer, and you know it, _his conscience nagged at him as he gave the fickle electronic one last look before getting up, annoyed that the little voice was not letting him forget he'd allowed the man to leave less than 72 hours after they'd found him on the frozen street, battered and _shot _for crying out loud, without putting up too much of a fight. _Some friend I turned out to be, _Charlie mused, knowing he should have insisted that Shawn stick around at least another couple of days, just in case anything unexpected happened. _Though I know what his answer would have been, _he admitted, and on one hand the bartender knew the consultant was right. But, even the fact that the people who were responsible for the hazel eyed man being in the Windy City in the first place were safely behind bars with virtually no chance of getting off wasn't enough to shut his conscience up, and, as he made his way to the main area, only to see the gray haired man talking to a man in a delivery uniform, he wondered what about the situation was bothering him so much. "What's up?" the dark skinned man asked, wondering why Jake had insisted he needed to be out here, when he knew very well Charlie had a ton of paperwork to catch up on before the end of the month. _And it's not like Jake hasn't signed for deliveries before…_

"Delivery here that apparently only you can sign for," was the only response from the older gentleman as he waved toward the awaiting man, for the first time causing Charlie to notice there wasn't a package in sight...and that he didn't recognize the company name on the uniform.

_Well, that's odd, _"Where is it?" the bartender asked, glancing around in confusion and wondering if this might be one of his brother's crazy stunts, though, now that he thought about it, Charlie really hadn't seen much of Marcus today. _Wonder what he's been up to..._he mused, making a mental note to track the teen down later this afternoon, after he waded through at least a portion of the stack of papers on his desk.

"You Charlie Parker?" the stranger asked, glancing down at his clipboard as he waited for an answer to his inquiry, completely ignoring the green eyed man's question. _Maybe Markie really did put this all together as a practical joke, _Charlie wondered, when another thought struck him.

"The one and only," Charlie confirmed slowly, "What is this all about?" he persisted, becoming more and more confused as the seconds ticked by without a response as the delivery man held out the clipboard for Charlie to take. Deciding the only way he was going to figure out what in the world was going on was to see what the paper contained, hoping like hell it didn't wind up being something bad, because he really doubted that a repo company would be quite so sneaky, the former medic brought the clipboard closer to his nose, blinking in surprise as he looked over the invoice that simply said, '_Don't argue, Chucky, just accept it, enjoy...and since neither I nor Davy will take no for an answer, save your protests and consider this as thanks for everything you did,'_ in place of an itemized list. And, though there was no signature, Charlie knew exactly who was behind the delivery, even before he read the P.S. on the bottom that made him laugh out loud as he gave in graciously and scribbled his signature on the line at the bottom, handing it back to the uniformed man, whose name tag did indeed read David. Shaking his head as the guy tore off the top copy before walking out the front door to get whatever token Shawn had decided to send them, Charlie leaned against the bar and showed Jake the sheet, and the postscript.

'_P.S. - Oh, and tell Jake he's not getting out of making me a healthy helping of his awesome huevos rancheros the next time I see him...I bet they'd go simply perfect with pineapple.'_

* * *

Gus's eyes flew open in alarm, his heartbeat racing as he tried to figure out just what had pulled him so forcefully out of the first peaceful, and mercifully dreamless, sleep he'd had all week. Nothing seemed off in his bedroom, and for several seconds the pharmaceutical salesman wondered if he'd been awoken by nothing more than the remnants of a nightmare, even if he couldn't recall having one. After several minutes with no additional sounds, Gus let his eyes slide back shut as he calmed himself, and determined that everything was alright, until, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head, he swore he heard it again. Even then, it took him a moment to place the noise that, though foreign to his bedroom in particular, could easily be associated with his often selfish best friend. _Great, now I'm losing my mind..._"Seriously, Shawn, how many times do I have to tell you how nasty those corn nuts are? I _know _you weren't dumb enough to bring them in here..." He muttered under his breath, not really expecting a response, so the all too familiar, not to mention very real, chuckle that followed his statement had the dark skinned man tossing the pillow aside and sitting straight up as he scanned the dark space anxiously.

Though he couldn't see anything at first, his super smeller immediately identified the offensive odor of something he had fervently hoped never to encounter again, "Damn it, Shawn, I know you're there, I can hear you chewing on those nacho cheese corn nuts," _Y__ou __**were **__dumb enough to bring_...the dark skinned man finished silently. For a few heart beats only loud, distinct crunching met his comment and for a moment Gus worried that his best friend wouldn't willingly make himself known, but then one of the shadows silently separated itself from the corner of the room, slowly closing the gap as Gus switched on the bedside lamp. Blinking to adjust to the sudden addition of light in the space, he found himself torn between overwhelming relief and staggering rage as the hazel eyed man finally came into view.

Not trusting his ability to keep his calm, Gus simply studied Shawn for a few moments as the other man popped another handful of the stinky nuts into his mouth, ignoring the crumbs that were bound to be left on his carpet, while taking in the old, ill-fitting sweatshirt that dwarfed Shawn's frame. Though he couldn't clearly make out his best friend's face under the ratty hood, sheer exhaustion was evident in every line of his body as he let out a weary sigh, before stashing the rest of the bag in the front pocket of his obviously borrowed hoodie, and then the consultant made the monumental mistake of opening his mouth, "Hey, Buddy, you should have seen the look on your face a minute ago..."

Mentally shaking himself at just how quickly Shawn's caustic comments were able to shatter his peace and get on his last nerve, especially since the man had been missing for the better part of a week, Gus simply stared at the intruder as if he was the psychic he purported to be, and therefore able to read every thought zipping through his brain, as jumbled and uncomplimentary as they were.

"C'mon, Gus, don't be like that," Shawn pleaded wearily, rubbing the back of his neck as the hood slipped backward. His comment caused Gus to start for a moment as guilt invaded his conscience, shifting uncomfortably in his satin sheets, "Are you really mad at me? This wasn't my fault, you know." The dark skinned man had to concede that point, but immediately started to frown at the consultant's next words, "I guess my perfectly chiseled jaw was just too mind blowingly awesome…" while Gus tried to make heads or tails of _that _comment, Shawn took a deep breath before quietly adding in a more serious tone, "I owe you one for this, because I _really_ intended to keep my promise," sheepishly continuing to absentmindedly rub the back of his neck, "Hell, _**none**_ of the things from the past 5 days were supposed to happen..."

"Well, Shawn, with you, I learned long ago that _anything _can happen...But do me a favor and get rid of those stinky nuts," Gus responded after a moment, unable to completely tamp down the urge to throttle his best friend, especially once he had retrieved said nuts and resumed eating them as if he'd never disappeared at all. Giving in to the little voice that insisted that his irrepressible partner seriously needed a reality check, he practically growled, "That's not what I meant, and you _know _it, but, since even you just said you owe me one for scaring the ever loving daylights outta me by disappearing," suppressing a shudder at the mere thought of the nightmares that had plagued him over the last several days, the dark skinned man pointed forcefully at Shawn, "_Twice _in less than a _**month**_, mind you, I think _I _owe _**you**_ this..."

Instead of responding, the other man simply crunched on his mouthful of corn nuts, letting out a resigned sigh when Gus crooked his finger innocently, totally perplexed on what his best friend had up his sleeve, but bowing to the inevitable and slowly closing the distance. The closer the hazel eyed man ventured, the more obvious his injuries became to Gus, testing his resolve to follow the plan that had seemed so brilliant just seconds before, because, though the darkness, and the enormous hood, had hidden most of Shawn's face from him, once he'd stepped into the sphere of brighter light what had appeared to be just a case of exhaustion, morphed into so much more. With the fabric down around his neck, Shawn's most prominent injury would have to be his partially swollen left eye and colorful array of bruising that covered a vast majority of that side of his newly exposed face, but it was the dull, almost lifeless look in those fatigue filled, hazel orbs that truly gave Gus pause.

By the time Shawn had finally reached the side of the bed, the pharmaceutical salesman had decided that backing down, even with as many injuries his best friend was probably already sporting, would likely be the _worst_ thing that he could do, so, steeling himself for his next move as Shawn reluctantly held out his hand, Gus brought back his own and slapped that 'chiseled jaw' as hard as he could, secretly relishing the shock that replaced the dead expression on his face. A victory he savored to the very second he registered the shower of nacho cheese corn nuts that was landing all over him, and, "My _imported_ satin sheets!" Gus fairly screeched, throwing in a few choice words to convey just how unbelievably outraged he was that those _nasty_ nuts were defiling one of his favorite possessions, when they shouldn't have been in the room to do so in the first place.

Shawn remained uncharacteristically silent, gently holding his sore jaw as he waited for the loud stream of decidedly un 'Gus-like' curse words to wind down as the man scrambled out of bed and began brushing the offensive snack onto the carpet, before shifting gears and remarking a bit incredulously, "What in the world do you have satin sheets for, anyway, Gus?"

"I'm a _player_, Shawn, I have the sheets for the ladies," he fired at him in annoyance, happy to have his friend bounce back, but hoping he'd missed the silky blue fabric that adorned the bed. _No such luck..._he grumbled even as he watched the faux psychic's eyes scan the room, as if trying to find at least one of the mentioned elusive ladies hiding out in the shadows.

"Well, unless you're concealing that filthy pirate hooker under the bed, I don't see a single female in here, so you might as well admit they're for you..."

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus snapped, the sound of his teeth grinding audible in the quiet room as he, in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, advanced on the injured consultant, unaware in his determination of all the corn nuts he was grinding into the fibers of the carpet. Neither man said anything as Shawn back pedaled for each step the salesman took, clearing the bedroom door frame as Gus steadfastly herded his best friend through first the hallway, then the kitchen, and finally into the living room. "OK," the dark skinned man declared once he stopped walking, crossing his arms stubbornly as he stared past Shawn and down the hallway, to the front door.

A wounded expression flashed across the faux psychic's face, but he quickly masked it as he gave Gus's profile a searching look, seeing only equal parts determination and indignation, muttering, "You're really trying to kick me out?" as he faced the other man down.

"No, Shawn, I _**am**_ kicking you out," he replied determinedly, "One way or another." Gus quickly closed the distance, grabbing the hazel eyed man by the shoulder, only to blink in surprise when he pulled back roughly, biting his lip and triggering something in Gus's memory, causing his heart to sink. Freezing with his arm still at an angle, he narrowed his eyes in thought as he recalled the last time his best friend had acted this way. "Shawn!" Gus demanded, waiting until he made eye contact, "You know the only other time I can remember you acting this way," not even wanting to _think_ let alone voice his suspicions, but he forced himself to do it, "Was shortly after you'd been shot and I'd accidentally grabbed your shoulder..." Then he focused all his energy on searching Shawn's face for the smallest tell, immediately noting the sheepish look that he knew was all the confirmation he was going to get, but it was truly more than the salesman really needed.

"Oh my God! You were _**SHOT**_!"

* * *

"_Ummm_, _**Charlie**_!" Jake's voice filtered through the bar, causing the bartender to wonder what was going on in the main area _now_, but he was unwilling to speculate too much after their extremely strange delivery that had arrived earlier that day. _I'm really not sure I can take any more surprises today, _Charlie mused, and, taking a moment to step back from his setup of the brand new all in one TouchSmart computer and accompanying printer, scanner, and copier that had only been a part of Shawn's extravagant 'thank you' gift, the green eyed man hurried toward the front room, noticing Marcus lurking behind the door frame of the dark hallway, an uneasy expression on his face. _He's really got to break that habit, _Charlie thought with a grimace as he entered the bar, hoping he wasn't about to walking into monumentally bad news, only to find Jake talking to a beautiful woman in a smart looking suit. _She certainly stands out in this neighborhood, _he admitted before casually asking, "What's up, Jake?" while he wondered just what it was about the black haired lady that had made Marcus so nervous.

"This is Samantha Warren," Charlie frowned slightly at the unfamiliar name as the bouncer continued, "And she'd like to talk with your brother, but she won't enlighten me as to _why_..." Jake trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to insult the woman, but feeling overly protective of the teen, especially after the last few days.

_Please tell me the kid didn't go and do something illegal, _Charlie silently bemoaned, knowing he'd have to deal with his brother later if that was indeed the case, but momentarily at a loss of what he should tell this woman, when she reached into an interior pocket of her jacket, pulling out a business card as she breached the distance. Giving the bartender a warm smile, and appearing completely at ease with the strange situation, she handed him the small paper rectangle, "Samantha Warren, I work for the recruitment department at DePaul Unive-"

Before she'd even been able to finish her sentence, Marcus had come bounding around the corner, a dazed expression on his face, "Dii-did," he cleared his throat before continuing, trying to stand up as straight and still as possible. "Did you say _DePaul_ University?"

The ebony skinned woman gave the teen a friendly smile, not at all thrown by his abrupt entrance, "Yes, DePaul University, and you must be Marcus," she greeted as she held out a hand, gesturing toward a nearby table, the very one he liked to sit at and glance down the street. "So, you want to attend DePaul?" Sam asked, as she followed the teen, leaving the other two men standing at the bar and gracing them with a hopeful smile when Marcus launched into an animated narrative about why he'd be a good candidate for the school.

Letting out a relieved sigh at his brother's attitude, Charlie picked up Jake's discarded rag and absentmindedly wiped down the bar, knowing in his heart that, though he'd probably never admit it, Shawn had to be behind this sudden visit…_Just like he's been behind every other good thing that's happened here lately._

"You know, as odd as he is, I have to admit that man is truly amazing..."the bouncer remarked softly, arranging some glasses as he glanced at the new, flat screen television hanging above the bar and smiling as he recalled the new stove and freezer on top French door refrigerator that had complete the amazing delivery. _Shawn certainly had the right of it,_ the gray haired man thought with a chuckle, knowing Chaz wouldn't want to accept something so extravagant, but that he couldn't easily refuse the items once he'd signed for them..._And for once the man gave in graciously and accepted the turn of good luck_, Jake admitted, feeling as though his old friend Calvin was here with them again, if only for a moment, as he watched the younger Parker brother get what might be the only chance to make his dream a reality.

_I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to thank him in person for all of this…Or if he'd even accept it if the opportunity did arise…_Jake mused, knowing that, even if that never happened, none of the three men would ever forget Shawn, or even a fraction of the changes he'd brought to their lives in such a short span of time.

* * *

Well, just one more chapter to go…Shawn's home, Charlie, Marcus and Jake are finally experiencing some good luck, and Gus is going into freak out mode…Also, the last chapter will probably be going up before the new year, as long as technology cooperates this time xD


	33. Begin at the Beginning and Go on Till

**I'm only going to say this once...I have no issue with CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Keyword is all in caps. Complaining, or plain flaming will not be tolerated. If you have nothing better to do with your life than anonymously harass a perfect stranger, that's pretty sad. If you find a person's writing style so offensive, there is the little back arrow in the upper right hand corner of the screen. I implore you to use it and stop wasting everyone's time. From this point on, all flames will be promptly deleted, and if it continues to be an issue, I will turn on the filtering for guest reviews. **

**That being said:**

Here it is…The final chapter for the story…All's well that ends well, right? But the $64,000 question is…Does it really end well? For that matter, does it really end _at all_? And that's all I'll say about it…Wait, what are you still doing up here, the story's down there…

* * *

Chapter 33: _Begin at the Beginning, and Go on Till You Come to the End: Then Stop...or Not._

_Breathe, and focus...And you __**will**__ figure this out, _Lassiter silently repeated as he sat in the quiet station, battling the rare urge to give up. _It's because of that damn video loop, _he grumbled, _I just can't get it to stop replaying in my head. _That fact was bad enough, but the knowledge that _**Spencer**_ of all people was the one so expertly wielding that gun was driving the head detective out of his mind, which was one of the reasons he was still at the station at this hour of the night, when he should be at his condo calling it a night. Resting his head on his hands, Lassiter mentally checked that he'd finished both his own paperwork, yet another reasons he was still in the building, as well as his partner's, since he'd 'owed her one,' and sent her home early. _After all she'd looked so very exhausted after seeing that clip this afternoon,_ the lanky man admitted as he wondering if he should just push the desire to dismantle his desk, the last reason he couldn't bring himself to go home, to the farthest reaches of his mind, never to be dwelled upon again. Though, even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that course of action was going to be far more difficult than simply making the decision, because, even though he'd been unable to find a single thing off with that drawer no matter what he'd tried or how many different ways he'd done it, the conviction that it had been tampered with was eating at the lanky man.

_Maybe the crux of the matter is the fact that I have been unable to remove the drawer itself from the empty compartment, _Lassiter reasoned as he relished the nearly silent station, wondering if he should just call it a night, since he'd run out of paperwork to use as a cover almost an hour ago. He could always go home and think about this from another angle, knowing if this latest attempt failed he was only going to be left with two options, either letting it go and just using the desk every day, broken drawer and all, or, completely dismantling the desk and trying to figure out a plausible cover story that O'Hara and Chief Vick would even remotely believe.

_Whatever it takes, I __**will**__ get to the bottom of this thing, once and for all..._he grumbled blue eyes blazing, even as a tiny, doubting voice piped up in his ear, _You mean, if there's anything there to __**get**__ to, and this whole thing isn't some figment of your imagination..._ causing the lanky man to snort as he answered the silent voice absentmindedly, "C'mon, there's got to be _something_ I'm missing," as he continued to examine the way the desk was assembled.

"Missing about _what_, exactly, Detective Lassiter?" Chief Vick asked as she approached, one eyebrow raised in barely concealed amusement.

Hoping O'Hara hadn't mentioned his accusations against Spencer, or his recent obsession with his old desk, the head detective simply remarked, "Nothing much, Chief, just finishing up some paperwork on that 459 before heading home for the night," secretly wondering what the blonde was still doing here at this hour.

"Alright, Carlton," she responded after a moment, glancing around, but unable to find a single file on the man's desk to buttress his story, "Well, since it seems you've finished whatever it is, I need both you and O'Hara here bright and early so I think you'd best call it a night," her look speaking volumes of just how skeptical she was of his sketchy explanation, before she headed for the exit.

"Yes, Chief," Lassiter called after her, grabbing his jacket as he finished shutting down his computer and deciding to worry about his dilemma tomorrow, since it _was_ well past time to call it a night. He rushed past the night desk clerk on the way out of the station, striding down the steps and across the lot to his Fusion, pulling the door closed behind him to shut out the slight chill that was hanging in the night air. The head detective started the car, tuning out his police radio as it jumped to life while he prepared to back out of parking spot, when the address the dispatcher was broadcasting struck a chord within him. _What the?_ he thought, grabbing the receiver without giving it another thought. "This is car 7-0, dispatch, 10-9," he barked, wanting to hear the message in its entirety.

"_Possible 10-70 was called in by a resident at 5196 West Mason Street...the woman said she saw a 'disreputable, scruffy, roughed up punk enter unit 3, over."_

"10-4, dispatch, I'm en route, ETA, five minutes," he snapped, preferring to leave the siren off through the sparse late night traffic, at least until he knew what he was up against. _Better make a call, just in case..._Lassiter acknowledged as he hit a speed dial on his cell, waiting for the person on the other end to answer.

"'_Ello?"_ his partner's sleep laden voice came over the line, causing the head detective to wince a bit at the knowledge he did indeed wake her up.

"What's Guster's address?" the lanky man asked, not wanting to alarm O'Hara but needing to know if his suspicion was correct.

"_Umm, 5196 West Mason Street," _she responded with a yawn, sounding much more alert when she continued, "_Unit 3, I think...why, Carlton, what's going on?"_

"Not much," he hedged, certain his attempt wasn't about to fool the blonde on the other end of the line, glancing both ways, he steered the Fusion through an intersection, "I'm just going to respond to a call there." Anticipating her next words from the sharp intake of breath, the head detective pushed on forcefully, "You stay put and I will call you the second I have anything to report." Ending the call before he could get the earful his partner was gearing up for at his high handed tactic, Lassiter put the phone back in his pocket as he realized he was only four blocks away from the pharmaceutical salesman's multi-unit building.

Fewer than four minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot, killing the engine and lights as he tried to remember the layout of the different apartments. _Even though Guster's is a single number,_ he recalled, _He's actually the first unit on the second floor landing..._Steeling his resolve, the head detective got out of the car, knowing that, though it went against every ounce of common sense he possessed, not to mention department protocol, to enter that building without backup, but he needed to get in there _**now**_. _And to think, I was just calling it a night, and I could've been over halfway home by now, but nooooo I just had to stay and finish that paperwork, run into the chief, and __**then**__, to top it all off, I'm now standing outside Guster's apartment complex about to go in looking for a prowler...who could very well be armed and dangerous. _When a sound came from his left, the lanky man drew his Glock, scanning the area only to draw back in surprise at the sight that greeted him.

"_Carlton,_" Juliet hissed from across the hood of his Fusion, seeming to appear out of nowhere, her Beretta at the ready.

"O'Hara!" the head detective uttered, at a momentary loss of how she'd arrived so quickly when he _knew_ she'd been sleeping when he called just a few minutes before, until it occurred to him that her apartment building was quite literally a few blocks further up the street. _And she obviously threw on whatever was closest at hand to get here so quickly, _he admitted, taking in the mismatching oversized sweatshirt and fuzzy pajama bottoms Juliet was wearing. "Damn it, just because I called you to keep you informed of what was going on, doesn't mean it was an invitation...In fact, I _specifically _ordered you to stay put and that I would call you after I got out," Lassiter ground out, clenching his jaw in frustration, even as he breathed a sigh of relief that he now had the best backup available, as the blonde gave him a slightly bleary, but clearly recognizable, 'don't even think about trying to screw with me,' look. "OK," the head detective replied after a moment, "Since you're _already_ here, watch my back..." they slowly advanced on the stairs leading up to the unit, "One of the neighbors said she saw an unscrupulously disheveled, scruffy, and 'roughed up punk' enter Guster's apartment approximately five minutes ago..."

"So," Juliet shot back in a hushed tone as they drew to the top of the landing, turning away from the balcony that wrapped around the building, her blonde tresses threatening to escape from the hasty pony tail she'd put it in as she'd rushed out the door when she cocked her head, "What are we waiting for?"

Impatiently, he waved her toward the door, swearing he could feel another presence somewhere behind Juliet, a bit further down on the balcony. Bringing his Glock up as he watched her eyes widen slightly, Lassiter fumed as he searched the inky darkness for the slightest movement. _I __**swear**__ to God almighty, if that punk is moronic enough to be behind her, thinking he's going to do something to __**my**__ partner, I am going to put a bullet between his beady little eyes, and deal with the consequences later. _When the head detective finally pinpointed the person who was hovering in the shadows, however, Lassiter was certain a few of his teeth were going to break as he ground them until they ached. "Damn it, Henry," he grumbled as the older man's shiny head became distinguishable, biting down a few dozen choice words as he simply demanded, "What the hell?"

The liaison's only response to the detective's inquiry was to brush past them both, his own side arm firmly in his hand as he scowled fiercely at the pair, "You two plan to stand here all night while my son's best friend is in danger?" Ignoring the dual affronted looks he received in answer, Henry continued, pulling a key out of his shirt pocket, "Do your damn job, _Detective_," before stealthily approaching Gus's door, unlocking it as quietly as possible and pushing it inward, letting out a breath when it swung open on well-oiled hinges.

The trio crept into the dark hallway, alert for signs of a struggle or any other outward indication that immediate, and quite likely dire, intervention was necessary. Lassiter led the small group as Guster's voice drifted through the apartment, though the head detective was unable to make out any of the hushed words. _Well, for having a punk in his apartment, the man seems surprisingly cool, _the lanky man thought, eyes narrowing in suspicion as Guster's next six words, delivered at a volume that had to have woken up the entire block, slapped the group in the face with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. _"Oh my god! You were __**SHOT!**__"_

_Crap, guess Spencer's back in town...and I __**really**__ wanted to have a chance to shoot this prowler, _Lassiter grumbled as they encountered the last obstacle, a single closed door that Henry and O'Hara were almost climbing over each other in the narrow hallway to be the first one through. "...ow I'm half deaf to boot," the consultant's unmistakable voice drifted through the suddenly open slab of wood that had given way under the assault, causing a pair of hazel eyes to swivel toward the trio as Guster continued to stare catatonically at his best friend.

* * *

_He was shot, Shawn, my __**best**__ friend, was SHOT...again, _the thought ran nonstop through the pharmaceutical salesman's head, leaving him in a state of shock that was only partially interrupted when the door burst open, "Oh god, Shawn, oh, god," Gus muttered, covering his ears, unable to process anything other than that sinking realization, "Oh god, Shawn-"

"Gus, buddy," the hazel eyed man closed the distance as quickly as his still sore body would allow while managing to sidestep his rapidly approaching father, "Look at me, Gus," he demanded trying to get the dark skinned man's attention. When that didn't work, and noting the determined set to the elder Spencer's jaw, Shawn's voice became more insistent as he attempted to remove Gus's hands from his ears, keeping the salesman between him and his dad. "C'mon, Gus," he pleaded, shifting his stance as he avoided Henry's grasping hands, "Please don't do this to me right now, I could _really_ use some back up here," shaking his head in frustration when his best friend didn't stop his muttering.

Lassiter was watching the men's pseudo dance from his place next to the doorframe, wagering that Henry would eventually find a way around the obstacle that Guster was presenting to reach his evading son, when he realized his partner was on her Blackberry next to him, and had been for some time. Raising an eyebrow, the head detective shifted his attention to the blonde, noting that, while she appeared concerned as she watched the men, she wasn't upset to the point of losing her cool. "..Thanks..." Juliet answered, ending the call before meeting the head detective's gaze, "EMTs are on their way," giving him a tough as nails glare when he opened his mouth to protest. "Carlton," she stressed when he simply gave her an incredulous look, "If Gus is correct and Shawn _was_ shot, then he _**is**_ getting checked out." _It's such a shame that she really does care about that man child,_ the lanky man lamented as he resisted the urge to argue with his partner, wisely deciding to keep his mouth shut as he went back to watching the scene in the middle of the room.

"_Damn it_, Shawn," Henry grumbled as he just missed grabbing a handful of the voluminous grey sweatshirt his son was wearing that proclaimed in faded letters, 'That's Irrelephant,' complete with a drawing of an elephant, as he hid behind Gus, "Would you just hold still? If you've been shot, then you should be sitting down, not jumping around like an idiot!" Even though none of the injuries that he could see on Shawn's face were an indicator of anything life threatening, the colorful array of still healing bruises that surrounded his partially swollen left eye caused the liaison's jaw to tighten painfully, making him wish for three minutes with whomever put those marks on his son. _A story we are going to get to the bottom of just as soon as I find out what other wounds the stubborn kid is concealing, _Henry thought determinedly as he feinted left and lunged right, finally managing to get a firm hold of Shawn and dragging him back toward the couch, ignoring the consultant's sharp intake of breath and rushed assurances he was alright.

"Geez, Dad, mind loosening your iron clad grip, there?" the hazel eyed man complained as he struggled to keep his footing, wincing when his father bumped him first into a chair and then the corner of the coffee table on his march before pushing him down, onto the couch. "I'm fin-" Shawn started, sucking in a sharp breath when the gouge on his right side came in contact with the frame of the furniture.

"Oh, you're _fine_, are you, Shawn?" the elder Spencer retorted sarcastically, raising an eyebrow, "Then why are you moving like you're ninety, and wincing whenever you touch something?" Without bothering to wait for an answer, Henry leaned over his son, batting away the younger man's hands as he tried to see what wounds he could find.

"Hey, that's _too __**close, **_Dad! Haven't you ever heard of personal space?" Shawn argued indignantly when the older man attempted to lift the sweatshirt to check his ribcage, only to bite his lip and hug his left arm to his chest when he jostled his healing graze on the arm of the couch. _Man, these injuries need to heal, _the hazel eyed man groused irritably, _Or I need to take control of this situation, preferably before someone decides I need to go to the hospital to get checked out…_"Alright, that's _it_," he grumbled, coming to an immediate decision as he pushed his startled father away with a sudden burst of energy before jumping onto Gus's couch cushions. _If he wasn't so preoccupied right now, Gus would be murdering me for standing on his furniture, _Shawn admitted before bringing his right thumb and ring finger to his lips, letting out a shrill wolf whistle just as more people burst through the door. _Well...who in the world called them? _he wondered, spying his girlfriend in the corner of the suddenly quiet room. "Really, I'm-"

"If you say _fine_, Shawn," Juliet shot back before Henry could get a word in edgewise, "I'm going to let Henry handcuff you to…"she trailed off for a split second, realizing she wasn't sure just _how_ the liaison had gotten to Gus's apartment, "_Something_ and drive you to the _**hospital**_..." earning an approving look from the older man, a scowl from her partner, and an utterly confused expression from her boyfriend for her hesitation.

"Why does _Henry_ get to handcuff him?" Lassiter demanded indignantly, ignoring the new arrivals for the moment as he attempted to stare the blonde down.

"Because, I know for a fact his father will take him to the hospital, while _you,_ partner, might try to do something to make my boyfriend disappear permanently," she responded with a look that made the head detective wonder if _she _might be able to read his thoughts until a self-conscious throat clearing from the tall officer in the hallway brought Lassiter's attention back to the task at hand.

"Fine," he grumbled as he glanced at the two people accompanying Officer McNab, glaring at the tiny Laotian woman who brushed past the head detective without a second look, zeroing in on the consultant still standing on the cushions.

"Shawn, what you do way up there?" Prin demanded as she matched the hazel eyed man glare for glare, advancing on him as she cocked her head to the side, "You stuck?"

Henry was the only person close enough to hear his son's muttered response of, "I might be," before Gus finally snapped out of his stupor.

"Damn it, Shawn, what are you _doing on __**my COUCH?!**_" before noting the new arrivals and blinking a few times as he quietly asked Henry, "Did I miss something?" When the older man's only reply was an 'of course you did so why are you bothering to ask' look, the pharmaceutical salesman turned his attention back to his best friend. "I am giving you exactly three seconds to remove your feet from my furniture, Shawn, or I swear I'll-"

With an eye roll, the faux psychic interrupted him, "Gus, don't be the convenience store that only sells purple flavored soda, of course I am going to get down," he experimentally shifted his foot, swaying a little as he wondered just how he was going to reach the ground without face planting in front of everyone, which would definitely be a one way ticket to the hospital, when an idea struck him, "Hey, Nabby, can I borrow you for a moment?" He waited for his favorite aspiring detective to bridge the distance between them before grabbing the tall man's arm and using it to steady himself as he climbed down from his perch.

"It's great to see you, Shawn," Buzz remarked with a sunny smile, looking like he was going to say something else for a moment, but shaking it off and frowning just a little when he watched the shorter man wince slightly once he was back on the ground, "You OK?"

Without bothering to look at Juliet, or his father for that matter, Shawn simply answered, "I'll live," attempting to shrug, but deciding against it when it aggravated his healing shoulder and simply settling for giving his friend a smile in return. "OK, Rina," he remarked after a moment, glancing at Rand who was lurking in the background, "Hit me with your best shot," only to be answered by his father.

"When are we going to find out what the hell happened this week, Kid?" he demanded irately, raising an eyebrow at his son's answer.

"That's actually a very strange story," Shawn admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his next with his right hand as Prin checked his vitals, knowing this was just the beginning of the questions that were going to be lobbed his way..._No time like the present to get this tale over with, but man, first I just want this examination to be done._...he thought before continuing, "Strange to the point of almost being beyond belief."

"If that's your way of trying to get out of explaining this," Henry shot back, voicing what he figured everyone else in the room was wondering, even if they weren't going to speak up, "You can forget it, kid because, with you, there's no such _**thing **_as beyond belief..."

* * *

"So, do you think it's really over?" Juliet asked a few hours later as they lounged on her couch, once the barest essentials had finally been addressed and Prin had given Shawn the all clear, decreeing, 'He no need hospital, he need good shot of common sense,' effectively breaking the worst of the tension in Gus's apartment.

_Though Dad wasn't quite as willing to believe the bullet graze wasn't serious, going as far as to examine it himself, and I __**do**__ have to go through all the explanations again tomorrow,_ he thought, stifling a sigh as he held his girlfriend close, and ignoring his sore shoulder, Shawn determined not to dwell on the formal statement that he was going to have to give at the station in a few hours. _Or the fact there still seem to be at least a handful of loopholes left to close..._"I certainly hope so," the consultant murmured tiredly, content to merely sit there and bask in the feeling that, for this moment in time, all was right in the world. "But, there are still a few loose ends I'm going to have to tie up."

"Like?" Juliet asked, the lack of sleep from the last week quickly catching up to her, curled against him as she listed to Shawn's steady heartbeat, allowing her eyes to drift shut.

"Well, I do have to get the coin that was hidden in the painting, but we can easily get that when I go to give my statement..."

Something about the way Shawn seemed to be trying not to laugh as he made his comment niggled at the blonde, "Did you hide it in his desk drawer?" Juliet asked, stifling a groan, suddenly certain that Carlton _hadn't_ been imagining that someone, namely her boyfriend, had tampered with his stuff.

"Lassie actually figured it out?" he asked on a yawn, stretching just enough to remove the kink settling in his neck, but not enough to dislodge either his girlfriend on his left or the pair of furballs cuddled up on his right.

"Not exactly, but he was adamant you had messed with his desk," Juliet responded without lifting her head from Shawn's chest, secretly thrilled that she had won out over Gus and Henry on where the hazel eyed man was going to be staying. And it had taken a fair amount of convincing too, because no one _really_ wanted to let Shawn out of sight, but eventually everyone agreed that it made the most sense for him to stay with her, with strict instructions to call if anything even seemingly out of the ordinary happened. _And that came straight from Carlton_, Juliet thought with a smirk, recalling the muttered comment about not having the time to track the pain in the ass down again, but she had her suspicions that either her partner or the elder Spencer was quite likely camped outside right now.

"What else is new, Jules? Lassie's _always_ convinced that I messed with something of his, so he's bound to be right about once in a blue moon," Shawn responded sleepily. "And you know as well as I do that things are going to be alright, because we've got our own personal guard dogs outside your apartment as we speak," he remarked, his thoughts mirroring her own as she gave in to the pull of sleep.

_Sometimes I swear the man forgets everything he taught me growing up...though I did pick up quite a bit more over the years, _Shawn mused with a small smirk as he covertly watched his father's rental car through the crack in the mini blinds before he let his eyes slide shut, figuring his dad must be getting cold, since he couldn't hear any evidence that 'Barbie Girl' was blaring in the background.

* * *

And that's all she wrote…For now...Anyway...

. . Oh…and I know I shouldn't do this, but…

"Relax, Lassie," Shawn Spencer answered nonchalantly, ignoring the way the other man's hand inched toward his holster, and his Glock, as he used his arms to keep the majority of his head dry in the steady fall of rain. "It's a flood, you're gonna get a little wet…"

….


End file.
